The Family
by Jinxgirl
Summary: Moments in the lives of the Hamiltons/Thompsons, a close yet dysfunctionl famiy with a deadly secret. Based on the movies The Hamiltons and The Thompsons (After Dark Horrorfest film in case of first one). Temporary title until better one occurs.
1. Chapter 1: First kiss

First Kiss

He was just going to kiss her.

That's what Francis kept telling himself, as he crawled forward towards her on his hands and knees, the sound of his own staggered breaths, his rapid heartbeat throbbing in his ears like a drum. He could feel his tongue, thick, heavy, and dry with his thirst, lying in his mouth like an sock, only considerably heavier. Although he swallowed, he could not shake from his thoughts what it might be like for one drop, just one single drop of the moisture spilling from her so freely, to land on his tongue, to spread the bittersweet sensation of her fading life force over his taste buds.

Her name was Sam, he knew. She was older than he was, probably around the twins' age. He knew that she had been pretty, once, curvy and tall, blonde and confident in her demeanor, with a smile that could be sweet or seductive, as she chose to display it. But Francis had never seen her in this capacity. Francis had only seen her weakened and helpless, at the mercy of his family, awaiting inevitable doom.

At the mercy of himself.

She lay on her back with her eyes half open, her matted hair spreading out across the filthy dirt floor, forming a creasy semi-shroud about her paling face. Francis could see her chest rising and falling, each breath slower in coming than the last, could hear an odd rattling in her lungs, as though she were drowning. When she spoke to him, her voice was hoarse and weak, emerging through lips so cracked that they too were beginning to bleed.

"Francis…please. We have to…get help. We have to…call police…"

He knew she was right. If he was going to help her…if he was going to keep her safe…that was exactly what he should do. He should leave her. He should run from her, flee the sight of her bleary eyes and weakened limbs, limbs that could not fight back, should anyone mean her harm. Above all he should flee the sight of the blood trickling down her arm, trapped in the crevices of her lower lip, the coppery scent of it that seemed to fill every space within his senses.

At the very least, he should stay away.

But he found himself drawing closer, his hands and knees staining with the dirt beneath him as he drew up beside her, near enough to touch. One trembling hand reached out to stroke the edge of her cheek, and as her eyes shifted in his direction, locking on his, the hazy film over them told him that although Sam was looking at him, she could hardly see him at all. A soft noise he recognized as a sob escaped his lips, and his hand against her cool skin shook so badly then that Francis drew it back, closing his own eyes so tightly he saw flecks of light burst beneath his lids.

When he opened his eyes again, he could see her pulse beating in her throat, was certain he could hear it, a low murmur in compliment to his own. As he leaned forward, unable to resist any longer, he told himself as his lips pressed against hers that it was a kiss. A kiss, nothing more. A kiss, to comfort her, to comfort him. A kiss, to take her mind off her suffering. A kiss-

But the moment the first small bead of blood made contact with his skin, and Francis felt its slight moisture on his own lip, it was impossible for him not to flick out his tongue, to allow it a taste. And as the tantalizing flavor, not enough, not nearly enough to satisfy, spread over the tip of his tongue, and the long-suppressed urgency of his hunger, his need to have more, much more, flared through him like a fire within, scorching through any self-control or rationale he might have been able to maintain.

Francis bit her lips. He could hear the soft, pained cry she made, could feel her slowly jerking movements beneath him, but one hand on her chest easily held her down. He could feel her heartbeat beneath his palm, was aware of each of its slowing beats, and even after he felt it stop entirely, he continued to drink from her, even as he wept, his tears further smearing the blood now streaking over his lips, cheeks, and chin.

He never asked David or the twins, but he did wonder later, when the shock had died down and the first tentative stages of his acceptance had begun, if for their kind, their first kiss always coincided with their first kill.


	2. Chapter 2: Numb

Numb

It should have been one of the saddest days of his life, and intellectually, David supposed it was. After all, what else could happen in a young man's life to bring him heavier grief than the day he buried his parents?

The typical, expected reaction would be to show his pain in some way, to make it apparent to others, to give them an invitation to provide comfort and sympathy towards him. It was the normal thing to do, the typical thing to do, and for David, who was of the Hamiltons the most concerned about them all showing themselves to be as conventional as they could manage, his lack of ability to do so in that setting was almost as disturbing as the circumstances of his being there at all. He had never been a skilled actor, as the twins often pointed out with sneering disdain, and for him to know that he was unable to give an appropriate performance of pain while standing no less than five feet away from his parents' coffins was a failure that struck him more deeply than the reality of their deaths.

He should be nearly doubled over, as his brother Francis was, eyes reddened with the tears he had shed frequently from the moment he heard the news, gasping for breath, unable to even look in the direction of the closed coffins without fresh tears coming to his eyes. He should be standing tall and rigid, as his brother Wendell was, his jaw clinched, every muscle taut with what looked like held back rage, but which for Wendell, might very well be his manner of expressing pain. He should be gripping someone's hand, as Wendell tightly held Darlene's, should be standing with his skin paler than usual in its hue, his lower lip caught between his teeth, silent tears emerging occasionally as he stared in the direction of the coffins, as was his sister Darlene.

Until today, he could not remember an occasion when he had ever seen Darlene genuinely cry, when she was not doing so in an attempt to manipulate or put on some sort of façade to trick others. He supposed he could hold out some vague hope that she was doing so then, that she too was not feeling anything in reality but was a better actress about it than he was. He knew that to be true, but somehow, David knew as well that she was not putting on an act.

This was their parents, still and silent before them. Their parents, who had held them together all these years, kept them safe and protected, from their own selves as well as from outsiders, those who would never be able to understand their family and its needs. Their parents, who had always accepted them, all of them, as the world never would, who had made David feel loved as he even now suspected no one else ever would, that somehow, everything would always work out where all of them would be okay. Their parents, who had made them family in a way that blood and words alone never could.

Their parents, whom none of them would ever see or speak to or touch again. And even as he knew and understood all of this, even as he repeated the knowledge of it all in his thoughts, David could feel nothing about the knowledge. The fading heat of the sun against his back, the pressure of his tie, slightly too tight, against his neck, the sound of Francis's faint gasps beside him, all of it seemed much more present, pressing, and triggering of reaction than the coffins and their contents.

Oh, he knew that within the next few moments, he would shake himself out of this inertia, that he would behave with an efficiency that might be necessary, if not instinctual. He would circle his arm around Francis's shoulders and guide him to a seat, hand him one of the handkerchiefs he had prudently packed for such an occasion, and had not had any need to use himself. He would touch his sister's shoulder and speak to her and Wendell, and would not show offense where she could see when she inevitably jerked back, when she or Wendell or both said something harsh in response, drawing nearer to each other to close him out. He would turn to the few other mourners in attendance and graciously shake hands and accept pats or embraces, speaking in appropriately subdued tones.

He would do all this, but through it all, no matter how desperately he tried to force himself, he knew he would feel nothing but an emptiness so heavy and hollow within him that it didn't even ache in the absence of emotion it had created.


	3. Chapter 3: Rules

Rules

There were rules to being part of the Hamilton family, rules that were often unspoken, but nevertheless very clearly understood by each one of them, with implicit threats of serious consequence if they were breached. This never stopped the twins from trying and often succeeding in doing so, of course, but even the twins understood that some of those rules were never to be crossed, that under most circumstances, every single one of them must be followed. It wasn't just for their own good, for their own protection and safety that they must, but for that of the family, and even the twins, when it came down to it, wouldn't sacrifice their entire family for the sake of rebellion alone.

For one thing, there was the rule about never killing inside the house. That was a matter of practicality. If they had to resell the house again, as they inevitably would, it was difficult to scrub bloodstains out of carpets or tile, and if the walls were particularly thin and neighbors lived close by, they would undoubtedly hear any screams or witness any attempts to escape. In a related fashion, it was necessary when buying a house to purchase one with a basement or some sort of storage shed or garage, where any killings that weren't completely outside of the house could take place, and all the storage of the bodies and blood could be maintained in order to preserve leftovers as they needed. With Lenny now, and with the others when they were younger, there needed to be somewhere they could store him, somewhere he could have plenty of room to himself but could still be safe and contained until he was ready to come out, to follow the rules as they needed him to be able to. All these were matters of practicality, the basics.

Then there were the ones that were also important, but tricky at times to abide by, such as the issue of food. Never allow outsiders to see blood, of course, or to realize your attraction to it, your need for it. Keep food in your house, cook it and offer it to guests, and learn ways to disguise your own lack of partaking. And if the subject of those like you comes up, no matter how lighthearted the conversation, steer away from it as gracefully as possible. Never, ever let the word "vampire" cross your lips where another could hear it; it was altogether too likely they might begin to make connections that should never be made by someone intended to survive.

It was necessary, of course, to keep it all a secret. There should be no close friends, no romantic relationships, nothing that would allow someone else, an outsider, to draw close enough to really know you, to figure out who and what you were. They would never be able to understand, and they could never be part of the family; even if they had wanted to, the temptation it would cause you every time they drew close, every time you could smell their blood in their veins and hear their heartbeats quicken in a moment of passion, would undoubtedly become too strong one day, and disaster could happen as a result.

It was in every way intended to be a life of solitude, lived apart from the others and within only the circle of one's own…and this was why the final rule was the most important, the ones even the twins never dared to break. Family. Family was always first, all that mattered, the only people you could count on or turn to or allow yourself to feel any affection or attachment to, because when it came down to it, family was all you would ever be able to have for good.

In comparison to that, all the other rules could be cast aside, as long as you learned how to clean up after the disasters that would follow in their breaking.


	4. Chapter 4: Melody

Melody

David knew how his sister would react if he ever told her that she reminded her of their mother. She would curl blackly lipsticked lips into a sneer, rolling her icy blue eyes in complete contempt before narrowing them into slits as she said something cold and cruel about him having an Oedipus complex, perhaps even asking him if she wanted to "analyze" himself by following her one day into her and Wendell's bedroom. She would never believe it or see the comparison as valid, and neither, David suspected, would their other siblings.

It wasn't that she resembled their mother physically. Their mother had been blonde and conventional in appearance, the typical mildly pretty mother figure in dress and style, always with a warm smile and gentle touch. Darlene was brunette even when she hadn't dyed her hair the dreary black of its present style, and though their mother's eyes had been blue as well, Darlene's were lighter in their hue and much more guarded, even hostile, when not mischievous or sly. Of course, their mother had never dressed in the slinky, all-black get-ups that Darlene came up with, and even the way they carried themselves was completely unalike.

It wasn't about appearance, or about anything that Darlene usually did in her daily life, out in the public, where anyone could see. Usually, David couldn't see it at all.

But it was only Darlene who would go to Lenny in the basement and sit beside his door, head leaned against the thick barrier as she sang soft lullabies, her voice high, sweet, and gentle in a manner that she never showed anyone else, even her twin. It had been Darlene who insisted that Lenny have toys in his room, teddy bears and picture books along with more "aggressive" toys like dump trucks and action figures, and it was Darlene who would sit outside the door and read Lenny tales of the three billy goats gruff and Little Red Riding Hood each night before they estimated Lenny would go to sleep. It was only Darlene who ever referred to Lenny as "baby."

Watching his sister sitting near Lenny's caged area of their current house, David saw how her face softened when she spoke to him, how she seemed younger and more relaxed in her posture and expression, and it was then that he could see in her small glimpses of their mother, that he held some small hope that maybe one day, there could be hope after all that she too would settle down.


	5. Chapter 5: Nostalgia

Nostalgia

As the fourth child in the Hamilton family, Francis had always hated being the baby until Lenny came along, and then still regarded as the youngest for the eight years that Lenny remained in the box. Being the youngest Hamilton and the smallest male meant that he got more than his fair share of hand-me-downs, that he got stricter rules due to his siblings' mistakes and bad behavior, that he got less TV time, earlier bed times, and less of an allowance. Because David was the oldest and the most "responsible," he thought he knew better than Francis in everything Francis ever said or did. He was often allowed to be in charge and tell him what to do, and Francis could tell even when he was young that David took this task very, very seriously from the way he corrected and lectured him over anything he could think to. Sharing a room with David meant that he got fussed at every day for not being neat enough for David's exacting preference, and David snored and talked in his sleep.

But nothing David could have done to anger or annoy him came anywhere close to matching the twins. Francis's brother Wendell and Wendell's twin Darlene seemed to make it their goal in life to make David as miserable as they possibly could, and they delighted in the fact that they were bigger, stronger, and older than he was, taking advantage of it every moment that was possible. Francis's homework and toys often went mysteriously missing, turning up again with missing heads or buried under piles of snotty tissues in the trashcan. Wendell took pleasure in hitting, knocking, and throwing him around so often that Francis almost always remained bruised. Darlene was more subtle in her torment, preferring to lie in such a way as to get Francis in trouble or to make him upset enough to cry, and on more occasions than Francis could remember she had locked him into the basement or any closet she could manage, just so she could stand on the other side and listen to him scream. At the time of his childhood, it had seemed to Francis that there was nothing good about being the youngest at all, and he had hated his brothers and his sisters more often than not.

But now that his parents are gone, and everything in their lives is left for them to figure out alone, as miserable and angry as his siblings still make him, Francis can't bring himself to hate them anymore, no matter what they do or how ruthlessly they exploit their power over him. His siblings are all he has left, and when he thinks back to their childhood now, what he remembers is the times their parents had made them sing together in the car, how they had all sat together, excited, exchanging smiles instead of punches, on Christmas mornings. He remembers how on Monday mornings his mom would make them all sit down together and talk about what they would do to have a good week, how all of them had squirmed and sighed and rolled their eyes, but how it had made Francis feel as he left for school with them like maybe they would come true, just because they had talked about it. He remembered playing in the sprinklers on summer afternoons, playing board games on rainy days, and even knowing that the twins had always cheated, that the games always ended with them fighting with David when David noticed and protested, he couldn't help but think back to all of it with a sense of loss.

It was bad enough that they all had to grow up, something that David and the twins had always seemed so impatient and eager to get to, that Francis had always thought of with foreboding and dread. But those memories of their childhood were now tainted with memories too of their parents, always on the outskirts in each, and it was hard to think back to that time without wishing it had never passed.


	6. Chapter 6:Heartbeat

Heartbeat

The first night that he was able to, that he was recovered enough to have mobility to even think of or try anything but sleep at night after the prolonged confrontation with the Stuarts, Wendell had been hesitant, unsure of how Darlene would react to even semi-intimate touch. Since what had happened with the Stuarts, especially Father Stuart and his sons with Darlene, he had not tried to touch her for longer than to hug her or hold her hand. Part of this, of course, was due to his injuries; having been beaten nearly to the point of death, Wendell had hardly been able to raise his arms without pain, let alone to feel enough of a libido to try for more than sleep when gingerly maneuvering himself into the covers beside Darlene each night. Other than to help him care for his injuries and to occasionally his cheek or the side of his head, or to rub her hand over his shoulder or the side of his arm, Darlene too had initiated nothing in this time, and he had not read desire for more in her eyes.

But the first night that Wendell's injuries were almost healed, it all seemed a bit more uncertain to him. He didn't want to move too fast, to do anything to remind her of what she had been subjected to against her will. He knew that his twin was tougher than any woman he had ever encountered, that her encounter with the Stuart males in their chamber had not broken her or damaged her as it might other women. She was more than that, and always would be. But nevertheless, if she wasn't ready, or had no desire, or if anything they had always done and enjoyed together would in any way seem similar to or a reminder of anything they had done…

It was a good thing they were already dead, that Darlene had been able to reciprocate vengeance against them first as well. But sometimes when Wendell was alone, and could allow himself to feel the savage fierceness of his rage towards them where Darlene could not see, all he could think about was how bitterly he regretted that he had not been able to participate in their destruction.

As he slid into bed beside her, then turned to face her, reaching out to stroke his fingertips over her cheek, Darlene held his gaze before shifting herself closer, sliding her hand over his hip before splaying it across the base of his spine, drawing him in. She spoke with calm evenness, even as her hand shifted lower.

"Nothing has changed, Wendell. I'm still me."

Still, for a few moments he simply pulled her in close against him, holding her in an embrace that was almost a cradle, listening to her heartbeat against his. Only after this wordless reassurance, and a gentle prompting from her wandering hand, did he proceed to kiss and explore her body, his relief at the truthfulness of her words making his affection even more savage than usual.


	7. Chapter 7: Strangers

Stranger

From the moment they let him out of the box, Lenny, who had seen so few people in his life for his first eight years, due to his sequestered conditions, could not seem to get enough of them. Each time they took him out in public he openly stared at the variety of human beings that passed before him, often turning in circles just to give himself ample opportunity to take in as many of them as he possibly could. He pointed and asked questions, often aimed directly at the person as well as at his siblings, and he sometimes actually followed people he found particularly interesting, eager to learn about them, to look and look at them until he had established them as a definitive memory in his mind.

He didn't seem to notice that not everyone took this fascination well, that some people edged away from him or gave him irritable looks, that some people were offended or impatient with his approach and some of the more outrageous questions he came up with. And while the twins thought his behavior was funny, often going so far as to encourage it by pointing out more unusual-looking people for him to take notice of, Francis and David were embarrassed by it, and David was even concerned that it might endanger them. A little boy like Lenny, going out of his way to ask personal questions about people, was memorable, which for their family, wasn't such a great thing to be.

"Lenny, you can't do that," he had tried to explain to him repeatedly. "I know you like to see people and find out about them, but you can't do that with strangers! It's rude, and, and it's…it's dangerous!"

"But how?" Lenny would ask with genuine puzzlement, frowning. "They can't hurt me."

And what he said was perfectly true. Before the average person could even begin to make a move to harm Lenny, he would be able to move fast enough not only to block them from doing so, but to inflict considerable damage and pain to them instead, even death, if he so chose. And so David would sputter through an attempt to explain the safety of the family's anonymity, all concepts that were dull and unimportant to an eight-year-old boy still awed by everything he saw in his newly widened world.

There was no need to warn about or protect Lenny from the possible ill intentions of strangers and their danger. No, what they really needed was to protect strangers from Lenny.

.


	8. Chapter 8: Heartache

Heartache

They had her hands over her head, tethered from ropes and straps hooked into the walls in such a way that she could not pull them free. Each yank only further chafed and scraped raw her inner wrists, until Darlene could feel blood begin to trickle down her skin towards her elbows, soaking into the long sleeves of her dress. Her legs too were bound, in such a manner that her legs were spread wide apart whether or not she wanted them to be. She tried to push her thighs together, to pull her legs in as far as they would go, but her captors had arranged her chains in such a way that this was impossible, and they too were too strong for her to pull loose from.

And to add insult to injury, they had dressed her in a white flowing gown and braided flowers into her hair while she had been unconscious…like a virgin. Like a bride.

The rotund old man, his wife, and their two sons stood before her, smiling down at her. Pride and optimistic hope shone in the woman's eyes, savage lust alone in the men's, and Darlene swallowed hard as she stared up at them, feeling her breathing rasp unevenly from her lungs. The man was overweight and old, and the sons had the look of prep-school rich boys; ordinarily, the three of them she would dismiss with disdain as no threat to someone like her at all.

But she would have been wrong. She WAS wrong, and the results of this, in her current captivity, her state of powerlessness against them, was making this more than apparent to her now.

She had never been a victim. She had felt no compassion towards her own, viewing them with contempt and callous disregard for allowing themselves to fall prey to her in the first place. But now she herself was as vulnerable to these people as she had made others to herself, and the fear this provoked in her was unlike any she had ever before experienced.

Darlene's head still throbbed from the blow Mother Stuart had delivered early, and she felt faintly nauseous and dizzy still, finding it difficult to catch her breath. It was probable that she had a concussion, as it was hard for her to think as clearly as usual. But perhaps that was also influenced by the fact that the three men standing before her had every intention of raping her over and over, had clearly spelled out as much, and even now, were drawing closer, seeming to savor the moment, the distress that the impending certainty of their violation was causing her.

This could not be happening. This just could not be happening, not now, not ever, not to HER. She was Darlene Thompson, formerly Hamilton, any number of other surnames before then, none carrying any meaning beyond the implication of its uniting her in her title to her brothers. And that was what really mattered, who really defined her. She was part of her family, part of her brothers, and they as a whole, as a family, would never let this happen to them. They would never let anyone take them by surprise, never let anyone have the upper hand long enough to take their power, their control, away from them.

But this was exactly what had occurred. These people, this Stuart family, their own relatives, somewhere down the line, were stronger, more experienced, more practiced in their abilities, more brutal in their actions. They had at last met others who looked to be not only their match, but their superiors, and this was where it had lead them. Francis, missing, likely injured or dead. Wendell, on the verge of death the last that Darlene had seen him, too weak and injured to even raise his head.

And her, with these three men closing in, hands reaching out to stroke her face, then to slide down lower, as they took the hem of her dress and began to ease it upward.

Darlene's heart pulsed wildly, and she twisted her body as much as she was able to, heedless of the straps digging into her skin as she tried to kick out at them, to wrench herself from their grasp, all to no avail. They had her exactly where they wanted her. As her breath came faster and faster, each exhalation almost a sob, she screamed back at them defiantly, clinching her jaw and narrowing her eyes at them in an effort to stave off the panic rapidly building in her chest, on the verge of tumbling out in a manner she might not be able to control.

"YOU FUCKERS! FUCK YOU!"

But this only seemed to encourage them, to add to their excitement. Darlene could see her own reflection in Father Stuart's eyes, could see even in this small mirror her growing fear, and knew that he could see it too.

She didn't want him to see. She didn't want to scream or beg, and god knows she didn't want to cry. It would be better if she gave them no satisfaction, if she gave them absolutely nothing to further goad them on. It would be one small victory she could maintain not to play their victim even if they forced her to submit into being one.

But as they seized her legs, forcing them even further apart, and their clammy hands squeezed into her flesh, their glinting eyes locked on hers, Darlene found her thoughts flitting back to Wendell, his wet gasps for breath where they had left him bleeding on the floor. He were probably dead now, his last moments stricken with his horror at his knowledge of what his twin had been about to undergo and his own helplessness to save her. They had not seen Francis since their arrival, no doubt because he too had met an untimely end. David could not come to her, not with Lenny so close to death himself, and even if he did come, he would undoubtedly also be dispatched of immediately.

She would be here for the rest of her life, an undoubtedly short one, with no hope of escape, never seeing any of her brothers again. She would be raped multiple times a day until she died or they killed her, and any children she produced as a result would be taken from her and raised by the people who had repeatedly violated her. This would be her life, her identity- not as Darlene, as a predator, but as a victim, every day from now here on out.

And because she was here, unable to communicate with David, unable to accomplish what Francis had come here in the first place to achieve, they could not get the cure for Lenny they had hoped for. Lenny too was going to die.

It was this last thought that was the breaking point for Darlene, the point where any semblance of stoicism was shattered. Her youngest brother, the one she had almost raised as her own, the playful prankster who had lightened them all up and brought them together as a family, as a union, when it had seemed that nothing else ever could. He could be dying perhaps in this moment, as she herself could not escape to go to him. And it was this, almost as much as her own pain, that caused her tears to finally come, for her first screams to begin.


	9. Chapter 9: Bitter

Bitter

As far back as David could remember, he and the twins had always, perhaps instinctively, clashed.

When they were young children, before Francis was born, it had seemed most unfair to him that they were always together, always united, automatically on each other's side, leaving him the third wheel, the isolated point of a triangle, the one always left out or made to stand alone. In any game or activity they were a ready-mate team, younger, yes, and perhaps not as intelligent as he was, or so he attempted to soothe himself by saying, but nevertheless more powerful and able simply by courtesy of their being two against one. In any argument or battle, whether verbal or physical, they would be able to best him simply because of their relentless support for each other, no matter how underhanded or illogical their counterattack. David had no one to back him up against him, no one to turn to for relief.

And this was what made it harder for him, as they aged, as the twins' bond with each other, their union against him, only grew more intense and sophisticated, extending beyond children's games and play into a general philosophy of existence. He knew, observing them, living with them on a day to day existence, that nothing could come between them, that any efforts to do so by anyone or anything would only cause them to draw even more closely together to each other to block the intruding force out. They were each others' first and foremost.

David loved them, of course, and he supposed in their own ways, they loved him as well. But knew that no one would ever love him in the intent, symbiotic way that the twins loved each other, that he would never have the automatic understanding and support from another person that they had, the state of being as if another person were simply him all over again, a slightly changed reflection of himself in flesh at his side. He would never be someone's first choice and most loved, and he would never have another person that he himself felt so strongly for.

And as they entered the teenage years, then adulthood, and the twins' relationship with each other became progressively closer, then to enter the realm of sexual intimacy, David would watch them whisper into each other's ears, smiling into each other's eyes, would watch them walk with their arms entwined, and even if they did nothing more physical than this in his view, the suggestion was enough for his face to redden and his muscles began to tense as much with jealousy as with anger. He would hear the noises in their bedroom at night or watch their eyes flash knowingly when he walked past, eyes averted, and feel so intently about what he was witnessing that he could not bring himself to speak.

It was not the impropriety that truly bothered him, whatever he might say to them about it, and his suspicion that they knew this all too well and delighted in it only made it that much more frustrating. It was his knowledge that he would very likely never have a lover of his own, at least one whom he could be with more than one time on one night, one who would love or want him back even half as much as the twins loved each other, that made their daily displays with each other that much more difficult to witness.


	10. Chapter 10: Agony

Agony

Wendell was accustomed to pain; in fact, he often got off on it. The excitement that stirred itself low in his gut each time he had placed himself in a potentially dangerous situation, each time he confronted possible death or injury and fought to make himself victor, the one inflicting greater injury than he himself received, only fed his adrenaline, only drove him into behaving with more aggression, more recklessness, more violent enthusiasm in the next similar circumstances to come along. With his twin sister he would revel in causing and receiving injury, the sight and smell of his own and others' blood becoming an intoxicating aphrodisiac, only further spurring him on. Pain and pleasure were tantalizingly entwined for him, making their private times together that much more entertaining when they got creative.

Wendell could tolerate a high level of physical pain and thrive upon it. Even now, with his face split bleeding heavily, his teeth loosened, his head throbbing steadily, and his inability to sit up, let alone to stand, due to the concussion caused by having his face slammed repeatedly into the floor, he could have rode it out as simply a greater challenge than usual to endure.

But to have this physical pain was nothing compared to his knowledge that his twin sister, his Darlene, had been taken from him, and could not escape, could not force her way back to him. To sit slumped on the floor, his own blood slowly seeping out of him, and to listen to hear screams, to vividly picture in his dizzied mind exactly how she was being violated and to know that he could not stand, let alone go to her and keep her safe, rip into those assaulting her and derive vicious satisfaction from making her screams become theirs…to sit there with his stomach churning, his own breathing harsh and staggered to his ears, and know himself to be utterly helpless to stop his sister's rape was the greatest pain Wendell had ever experienced, beyond any physical pain possible for him to have born.


	11. Chapter 11: afterlife

Afterlife

Francis had only been to church once in his life. His parents had never taken him or his siblings when they were alive; religion had never been something they taught them or emphasized in one way or another, and he had never been able to extract from them their opinions on the matter.

"That's something for all of you to make up your own minds about," was all his father had said, and his mother had only elaborated slightly more about the matter.

"Religion is personal. No one call tell you what you should or shouldn't believe, that's for you to make up your own mind about. If you are open to possibilities, all possibilities, then the world is a more interesting and accurate place to live. Who would want all the answers anyway? Who do you know who truthfully has them?"

Perhaps this worked for his siblings, or at least for the twins, who had never seemed to care one way or the other to find out any unknowns in life. Their life in the present was what mattered to them, past or future be damned. But Francis was a thinker, even a dreamer, as his mother had often smilingly told him, while running affectionate fingers through his hair. He wanted answers, not simple possibilities, a direction to go and a place to arrive at, a sure path to lead his way. He had thought for a time that his parents would be this for him, that gradually, as he aged, they would reveal more and more to him until he had all the answered he desired.

But with his parents' loss, he had none of this, if they had ever been intended to give him this at all. Though he doubted religion would provide him with what he sought, he had tried it, all the same. Religion might not give him comfort or hope for his future, but he suspected that it would give him the message of damnation, of what he felt to be his doomed, cursed existence…and perhaps if it could validate this feeling or suspicion, it could also teach him how to avoid its seemingly inevitable continuance.

It was a myth, he knew, that people of his nature, of his family's type, would be unable to sit in a church, to be in the presence of a cross, or to speak or be exposed to prayer. Francis sat through it all and half expected himself, despite this knowledge, to burst into flames or to somehow expose himself as the wolf among the sheep that knew deep down that he was, or one day would be. But nothing of the sort occurred. He was greeted with friendly acknowledgement, and then he was left alone, with none the wiser as to his true identity.

He was not provided with answers as he sought, nor with peace of any kind, and after two visits did not return to church again. But even years later, when he had accepted his lot in life, even tentatively began to embrace himself and his family's genetics, Francis sometimes thought back to those services, in particular to their views of the afterlife, and could not be certain of whether or not he hoped that this much of the religious ones' views were accurate.

If there was an afterlife, and his parents were part of it, which section would they belong to- heaven, or hell? If they could see him and his siblings now, what would they think of him? Would they be proud…or would they warn him, if he could, that they had instructed him wrongly, to choose another path, to fight against the very nature that their genetics had cursed him with?

And what about his victims, those of his siblings'? What would their roles in the potential afterlife be…and if they could see him now, watch how they were forced to live his life, would they understand?


	12. Chapter 12: Spiral

Spiral

The twins had been different, once.

Well, perhaps different was too strong of a word to use. "Manageable" might have been a closer term to the true description of the matter. They had never been the sort of children or teenagers who would easily obey orders or follow the rules; if anything, they tested them all not because they actually wanted to do the opposite of what was asked of them, but simply to see what could happen if they broke them, how much of a challenge it would be to get away with doing so. Ever since early childhood they had commanded more attention directed their way than David and Francis had combined, due to the high number of times their behavior invited correction and discipline of some kind.

The difference was, though, that a year ago, it had been their parents that the twins were testing, their parents whose instructions they rebelled against, and this, David knew, had made all the difference. Back then, the twins' recklessness was tempered with good humor and mischievousness rather than genuine anger or desire to hurt, and they respected the authority over them, their parents, enough to see and respect a certain line between rebellion and anarchy against them. When their parents truly were serious in their anger or disappointment with them, David could see, regardless of how little Wendell or Darlene might show it, that they were sorry for their actions and would possibly consider not doing the same or similar ones again, knowing how strongly their parents had felt about them.

There was no such buffer present now. With David, Darlene and Wendell not only cared nothing for his opinion or his feelings towards anything they could think of to do, they delighted in infuriating and humiliating him, in not only brushing against the imaginary line, but leaping over it, then repeatedly rubbing their soles against its mark until it was so blurred and scuffed it was almost impossible to see any longer. He suspected sometimes that it wasn't what they were doing that gave them such adrenalized excitement, the "rush" they had once described, so much as observing his reaction after the fact.

Their parents had been capable of handling the twins with calm, firm words and expressions, with stated consequences and expressions of disappointment, and they had been mostly effective in their efforts to wrangle them in as needed. David could yell and scream, beg and plead, even cry, if he ever let himself get to that new low in front of them, and he knew very well by now that the twins would simply smirk at him, arms entwined around each other in a self-satisfied expression of solidarity, and make sneering remarks before walking away, only to up the ante of their misbehavior the next time.

They had certainly never been well-behaved, but the death of their parents seemed to have sent them spiraling out of control. Whether this was due to unresolved grief or anger, or simply a removal of the safeguards that had once been in place to keep them within reasonable limits, David could not know for sure. But it did seem, he realized slowly, after months of the same failed sequences of confrontations again and again, that most of the twins' more perverse and shocking behaviors seemed to occur when they were certain they would have an audience, or later be found out. What this told him about their level of control, their deliberate choice not to exert it over themselves, was as frustrating as their behavior itself.

He sometimes wondered what would happen if he were to simply ignore their behavior, whether it would eventually ease off the frequency and intensity of their perversity. But the thought of leaving them to do as they liked, and how they might escalate even more afterward in an attempt to provoke a response, was enough of a fear to David that he could never manage to even try.

It had been simpler, much simpler, when he had not had to even try to pretend to know what he was doing in regards to them.


	13. Chapter 13: Oppression

Oppression

All his life, Francis had felt himself to be stifled, shoved into one box, one role, one way of being that he could not seem to break out from, or to allow more of himself to break through with. It was more than being asked to follow unsatisfactory rules, or to try to aspire to make himself "more" of something that he had not yet been able to mature into being. His life, from the day he first was deemed able to dwell among others, was one of censorship and restriction, for every moment of every day, he had to watch himself and his actions carefully, monitoring his every move and others' reactions to him to insure that he would pass their judgment of him as someone approximating normality.

Among his peers he must not be too quiet and reserved, or he would risk being a target of bullying for their perception of him as weak, but he must also not say too much or risk letting on the truth of his identity as distinctly different from them all- and if he allowed himself to be, infinitely more dangerous. Among his parents, when they were alive, and now with his brother David, after their death, he must censor his thoughts and feelings so as not to worry them, even as he floundered, unsure of who he was or where his niche in life would eventually be. And with the twins? If Francis lets weakness or uncertainty show in front of them even for a moment, it would give them that much more ammunition to use against him in the future, and that much more pleasure at his distress.

For the first fifteen years of his life, Francis drifted through life feeling a victim of his circumstances, a curse of genetics, always hiding his true identity, his true feelings, and most of all, the extent of damage he could cause, if he ever let himself break free of his feeble construct of normality. It wasn't until later, when he began to realize how much more satisfying it was to oppress rather than to be oppressed, that he was not made and was no longer willing to be someone else's victim, that Francis began to really relish his position in the world.

He was meant to be the oppressor all along.


	14. Chapter 14: Protection

Protection

As the baby of the family, one four years out of the box, Lenny was used to being the one in the family to be closely watched, the one the other family members looked over their shoulders after, the one that all the rest would check in on to make sure he was okay. Lenny could barely remember their parents, but through his older siblings he had come to understand that through their death, they had as a family been brought closer together, drawing together into a tight circle of protectiveness with each other, and that he was the in the center of them all, the focus point of their bond. He was only twelve years old, but without them saying so aloud, Lenny had gotten the over time that without him there as something for them all to agree on, someone to ban together to keep safe and cared for, they might have long ago drifted apart in bitter feelings and physical distance.

He was aware of his importance to the family and was happy for the role he played, the significance he held to them all, because as annoying as it could be to be the one they all were most concerned with, the one that was given the least freedom and the least trust to be able to make decisions for himself, their attention to him nevertheless was a demonstration of their caring. He was never in school long enough to get to know other children very well, but from what he had seen, Lenny was the only one with brothers and a sister as cool as his were, and he was definitely the only one that got so much attention from his older siblings.

He had only wished sometimes that they would trust him just a little more, give him just a little more chance at having some responsibility for himself and spend just a little less time blocking off any chances he might have to prove himself as capable as they were, entrust him just a little more with being able to maintain the family's safety. He was sure he would be better at being secretive and stealthy than the twins, at least. After all, they were usually the ones who got them in trouble, not Lenny.

But he had accepted nonetheless that for the time being, at his age, he was still to be the "baby" in their eyes, Lenny who was fun to play with and laugh at, but who was too young and not mature enough to be trusted with anything that mattered. He hadn't minded very much; after all, being the one that could make them all laugh and lighten up just to play was a fun role to have.

But when the time came that more was asked of him, when Lenny was not only expected, but NEEDED to be more for them, Lenny took his part with utmost seriousness, but without the joy or excitement he had expected. He knew only that his sister needed him to rescue her, that David needed him to be the one to do it, and if he could not do his part, if he could not be the protection to her that she had always been to him, then their family would not survive his failure.

As Lenny had run as fast as his super-human speed would allow, finding Darlene in her bound state and releasing her from her ties, he had tried not to think of what might have happened to her in the time that he had not been present. His sister had not allowed him to touch or hug her when she was first free of her makeshift cell; instead she had strode ahead of him with her chin lifted, her eyes narrowed until hardly any blue sheen of her irises could be seen, with the intent of violence evident in every muscle. It had not been until afterward, when all the necessary parties lay dead by their hand, that she had turned to Lenny and hugged him, thanking him with a brief but nevertheless sincere smile, that Lenny had finally been able to stand tall, to feel his first stirrings of pride.

For once, he had been the one to protect, and he thought he'd done a pretty great job of it.


	15. Chapter 15: Fireworks

"What's this one for?"

Francis looked up at the handful of what looked like long, thin matchsticks that his brother Lenny was holding out to him, squinting as he attempted to make out for himself what he was showing him. It took him a few moments to be able to decide.

"It looks like sparklers," he told him. "Where did you get those?"

"Incoming," announced Wendell's voice from a distance.

Francis hadn't even had time to turn to look towards the direction it seemed to be coming from before a plastic bag whacked him in the back of the head. Giving a brief cry of surprise and some indignation, Francis pivoted towards the doorway, where Wendell now casually leaned against the frame, Darlene coming up behind him as he watched and slipping herself beneath his loosely circled arm. Both grinned at him, Wendell with self-satisfaction at having hit him precisely where he had aimed, Darlene's smile slyer, only turning up her lips, as Francis bent to pick up the bag to inspect its contents.

"Fireworks," he discovered, removing each box one by one, before looking up at the twins for an explanation that he half dreaded in coming. There was no holiday today, and the only reason other than that he could think of for the twins to purchase fireworks brought images of possible torture, carried out by their all-too-eager hands, in place of the likely more fast and merciful alternative of more powerful explosives.

"Yep," was Wendell's simple affirmation, as Darlene smirked, her voice emerging in a purr as she lightly stroked her fingertips over her twin's side, her head tilted to touch the top of his chest.

"Oooh, the boy can read. Give the smartypants a prize, Wendell."

Automatically backing up a step, all too well remembering what Darlene's idea of a "prize" had been when he was a kid around Lenny's age, and how many times it had taken him to stop being gullible enough to take her at her word, Francis persisted in his line of questioning. "Well, what are they for? Because if you take them down to the girl in the basement…and you end up catching the house on fire…David's gonna-"

"David's at work. Our beloved, busy bee breadwinner," Darlene pointed out with a roll of her pale blue eyes, now tapping her fingers rather than stroking them over Wendell's skin.

"She's right," Wendell confirmed, as the ball of his own thumb rubbed over Darlene's shoulder with slow but pressured strokes. "So what exactly would he do, if that was our choice?"

Nothing, Francis had to admit to himself. Still, he wasn't that keen on the idea himself, if that were the intention. They moved often enough as it is, and did more than enough to draw suspicion on themselves, without setting their house on fire for the sake of…what? Pissing David off? Seeing if they could do it as an idle distraction from boredom?

"Uh..." he started, then glanced at Lenny, hoping that the youngest of the siblings would speak up against them. It wasn't likely; Lenny adored both the twins and was generally enthusiastic to any suggestion they had, however reckless. But on the few occasions that Lenny was hesitant, they usually did listen to him. Whether or not he was aware of it, Lenny carried the most influence of them all.

Already tiring of the mind games she and Wendell had begun to set up, Darlene rolled her eyes again, then pulled away from Wendell to walk forward. Snatching the bag of fireworks from the ground, she shook them in Francis's face.

"They're for Lenny, dumbass. He wasn't out of his cage early enough to see fireworks this year on Fourth of July. There was a year round stand on 145, so we got some. Come on, Len, come outside and we'll show you how it's done."

"What is it? What do they do?" Lenny asked with enthusiasm as he bounded out the door after them both, almost skipping with his excitement. Darlene laughed, in the genuine manner that carried true enjoyment and amusement rather than the cynicism that Francis was accustomed to hearing directed at him or David; it seemed only Wendell, and now Lenny, could bring that out in her.

"You'll see…we'll start with the sparklers, then we'll let you set off the rest."

Francis followed more slowly, some practical matters of even this idea, admittedly preferable to setting off fireworks in the house, but nonetheless carrying some issues. For one thing, he wasn't very sure whether fireworks were allowed in their neighborhood at all, particularly when it wasn't a holiday. It was possible some nosy neighbor would take the noise to be gunshots and call the police, or that they would even if they knew the genuine cause, just to be jerks. This being the twins and Lenny in question, they could still manage to set something or someone on fire. And for another thing, it wasn't even dark out yet.

But the smile he had seen on Lenny's face, sparkling in his eyes, kept him quiet, and he simply followed, watching Wendell look down at Lenny to give careful instruction before lighting his sparkler, motioning for him to begin to move it.

"Go Lenny! Run! Wave it around!"

Lenny laughed in a loud, startled burst as his sparkler began to flare, twirling in a circle and hollering with delight when its sparks streaked around him in a long line. With short, static jerks of his arm he watched the bright orange and red make shakes in the sky. Within a few moments Wendell and Darlene had theirs lit too, and they joined him in waving their arms, drawing and writing in the sky, then engaged in a playful battle of sparks, engarde- ing their flares as best as they were able and often narrowly missing hitting each other's clothing or arms. As Francis watched his brothers and his sister from a few yards away, listening to their laughter, watching their easy smiles, he smiled too, then began to make his way to the abandoned sparkler box.

.


	16. Chapter 16: Unforeseen

Unforeseen

"How many minutes are left until we can look at it?" Wendell asked her, an edge to his tone.

When Darlene looked up at him from where she was seated on their bed, she could see that he was clinching his jaw as though it were difficult for words to emerge from his mouth, or perhaps for him to control which ones came through. His hands continually pressed into each other, cracking and popping knuckles one by one, and he shifted his weight first to one foot, then the other. It seemed to be all he could do to keep from pacing as he waited for her reply.

"Just a few. Will you relax, already? It is what it is, and anyway, it's not like we don't have choices," she held up one hand in his direction, rolling her eyes. "Seriously, chill out."

Perhaps it was her derisive, hardly calming tone, carrying tension that matched his own. Perhaps it was the words themselves, and their striking contrast to what Wendell himself was inclined towards feeling. Whatever it was about this communication from her, Wendell bristled, a muscle jerking in his cheek before he drew closer to her, leaning down towards her in an almost threatening fashion, his face close to hers, both hands pressed flat on the bed beside her thighs. He did not touch her, but his voice rose slightly, intense with his anger as he responded.

"Relax, Darlene? Relax? We're about to see whether or not our life is about to be supremely fucked over, and you think I should just sit back and relax?"

Most women would have flinched for him to speak to them in such an aggressive tone, likely would have recoiled away from him coming so close, looming over them with his body. But Darlene was not most women, and she did not so much as blink. She looked back at her twin calmly, her eyes squarely fixated on his own, until his expression softened slightly, the tension riddling through his back and shoulders lessening. She waited until he had straightened before she spoke.

"Nothing has to change. Not if we don't want it to. If I don't. We don't even know if anything will change at all, Wendell. We haven't seen. It is what it is, and whatever it is, it doesn't have to stay that way. So…calm down."

Leaning forward, she cupped his face in her hand, tilting it down towards her as she kissed him, slow, gentle, then with more aggression, sucking, then biting down on his lower lip. Automatically Wendell's hands came forward to cup her waist, slipping up her sides so that one came to rest on her shoulder, squeezing hard, the other roaming across her chest with equal pressure. When Darlene pulled back, both were breathing hard, chests heaving, and the tension of Wendell's muscles was now due to lust rather than anger, exactly as she had intended.

"Now," she said breathlessly, giving him a little push to his chest, and extended one hand for him to help her up in a rather exaggerated gesture of grandeur. Wendell took her hand, squeezing, before pulling her to her feet, continuing to hold her hand as they walked into the bathroom.

As she picked up the pregnancy test, hesitating, despite her own earlier matter of fact words attesting against her worry, Darlene could understand all too well, though they still had not spoken of it aloud, the real reasons for Wendell's agitation. It was not the potential pregnancy itself, though that was, of course, something they had neither expected, planned for, or desired between them. It was the uncertainty of whether any possible child she would be carrying at this particular time would belong to himself, or to other recent sexual partners of hers- once she had not willingly accepted.

They could have no way of knowing the truth of this, and the very thought, however unvoiced it might be, that a baby she was carrying could potentially not be his was enough to send him off into a violent rage if she did not temper him quickly.

"Together?" she asked, still looking up into Wendell's eyes rather than down at the stick in the cup, and when he nodded tightly, she squeezed his hand.

"Now."

She was holding her breath even so as they looked down together. For a few more moments both were very still, and then their hands squeezed harder. It was another few moments before both spoke in one breath.

"Negative."

The resulting explosion of ecstasy was nothing compared to anything that could have lead to an opposite test result. As Darlene leapt onto him, wrapping her legs around his waist, and began to celebrate with intense fervor, Wendell just barely had the presence of mind to reach back blindly behind her to close the bathroom door.

.


	17. Chapter 17: Lies

Lies

From the time Francis was still a young child, it had been a struggle for him to know the difference between the morals expected of him from his family, the morals expected of him from the outside world, and those that he himself believed in.

It was difficult to know what was expected of him when and by who, and whether there were every exceptions between time and place, people and conditions. It seemed to him that each person seemed to expect him to know automatically what was he was supposed to be doing, to feel on his own that their way of thinking towards him was also his as well, and that he would then react accordingly. But for Francis, this didn't come easily.

When was he supposed to speak up, and when was he supposed to remain quiet? When was he supposed to be serious, and when was he supposed to laugh? When was it okay to show that he was angry or sad, or was it ever okay at all? From moment to moment, Francis could never quite be sure.

But the most confusing aspect of it all when he was very young, first emerged from the box, was to know when he was supposed to tell the truth, and when he was supposed to lie.

It seemed that overall, society expected him to be very truthful. In his classrooms his teachers lectured on honesty and trustworthiness, and put great emphasis on being able to believe the words of their students. They talked about the importance of doing your own work without cheating, of accurately reporting scores and wrongdoings, of developing a good reputation and working to maintain it. Almost as important as their talks of good grades and hard work was their repetitive discussion of honesty, and their disapproval of any child that was thought to be a liar.

But those expectations of honesty seemed to be less stringent than they really explained or discussed. While he was expected, Francis soon realized, to tell the truth about the state of his homework or whether or not he had finished the tasks teachers asked him to complete, he would be scolded for making truthful statements such as that he disliked a classmate or to tell someone that their appearance was unattractive. It seemed to him at the time that the rules were arbitrary, changing on the whim of the person speaking them rather than remaining constant, something he could learn and adapt to.

His family only further confused his efforts. Although his parents, particularly his mother, seemed to expect honesty in some conditions, such as in response to whether or not he had brushed his teeth or hit his brother, completed chores or done his homework, his siblings, or at least the twins, actively encouraged him to lie.

"She'll never know the truth," Darlene would tell him with her sneaky/sly smile that she had had even as a preteen, eyebrows arched in a manner that Francis knew now, but had not been able to interpret as a child, as being a trademark of her being deceptive, or at least mischievous. "You won't get in trouble. Trust me."

Whatever it was she was trying to convince him to do, it had never worked out the way she promised, and he had quickly learned that trusting Darlene was something he certainly shouldn't do. Wendell was more subtle.

"You tell them what we were up to, Francis, and I'll bash your teeth in," he would tell him in an almost friendly fashion, even as his smile remained every bit as threatening as one of Darlene's arched eyebrows indicated. "Think about what you'll look like starting fifth grade with dentures before you go tattling to mom and dad."

It seemed that the view of truth, or at least whether or not be should abide by it, bent to rules that were impossible for Francis to figure out. But the hardest to stick to was actually the one that was completely unbending, the only one that every member of his family remained firm with.

He could not tell anyone the truth about who they really were, about the disease that they had been inflicted with. And this was the truth that most colored every part of his life; this was the truth that Francis himself still struggled to come to terms with. This was the truth that every day, he struggled as to whether to speak out- the truth that in the end, always had to remain a lie.


	18. Chapter 18: Innocence

Innocence

"Francis?" Lenny tugged at his arm, and when Francis looked down at him, kept his fingers wrapped around his bicep, his expression open and inquisitive as only Lenny of his siblings could still manage.

"Yeah?"

"There's really a Santa Claus, right?" Lenny asked , his brow furrowing with genuine concern as he continued to lightly grip his arm. "'Cause it's December next month…and that's the month Santa is supposed to come, right?"

"Uh…well, Lenny-" David started, from where he stood several feet away, a plastic cup of blood in his hands. With the emergence of Lenny from his box, the family had suddenly become equipped with plastic cups rather than glasses and mugs, many with cheerful cartoon characters or decorative figures, such as hearts or snowmen, from cheap stacks of leftover holiday cup sets that David had recently purchased.

"Yes," Francis told his younger brother quickly, before David could begin with his likely tactful, but altogether too honest response.

His eyes shifted to the twins, who had entered the room shortly before Lenny's question and were watching with faint interest, warning them with one look to keep silent. Usually they would immediately disregard anything he asked of them on the simple grounds that he had asked, but this time both held their tongues, with Wendell instead leaning back against the kitchen counter, Darlene resting back against his chest into the arm casually looped around her waist as they watched Francis's handling of it.

"Yes, there is," Francis repeated with more confidence, nodding, and braced himself for Lenny's next question. One thing about Lenny they had all learned by now was that if he had one question, several more would be sure to follow.

Lenny looked no less worried by his response. If anything his eyes darkened, becoming troubled as he tilted his head and bit his lower lip.

"Well…does he know that I'm out the box now? So he'll know he can come by for me and not just you guys?"

"Well, Lenny, actually-" David started again, no doubt to tell him that since their parents had died nearly two years ago, they had not bothered to celebrate Christmas with each other. It had seemed more than just pointless or joyless, almost obscene. But this time it was the twins who interrupted him with a look.

"Yeah, sure, bud," Wendell nodded, one finger lightly twining through Darlene's hair, and she nodded too, backing him up.

"Yeah, Santa knows everything, right? He'll be here…won't he, David."

The addressing of David was not a question, and all listening knew that. David hesitated, then gave a weak grin as he too gave a short nod.

"Um, yeah. I guess…that's right."

Still, Lenny was frowning, and he lowered his eyes, his shaggy hair falling partly to obscure one. It took Francis a moment to understand his next almost whispered word.

"Will he come for me?"

"Come for you- Santa?" Francis tried to clarify, and Lenny nodded, still not looking up at him.

"You're supposed to be good…and you know, what we do…you say people would think we were bad, if we ever told…so…is Santa going to think that too, and not come by for me?"

It was the seriousness of his request that got to Francis, the genuine fear shadowing his eyes even as he tried to keep it from their view. Looking at his brother then, seeing the naivety that still resided so clearly within his soul, it was almost impossible to believe that this same boy who still harbored such undeniable innocence would, without careful supervision, rip out someone's throat with great relish and glee.

But this was Lenny, both the brutality and the innocence, and even as Francis answered him in the affirmative, it was hard not to wonder if any but him and his siblings, should they know of his violence, would ever be able to see the innocence as well.


	19. Chapter 19: Seasons

Seasons

"What are you doing, Darlene?"

His sister looked up from where she was sliding what looked like a piece of laminated paper beneath the crack of door leading into Lenny's small space, her shoulders going tense, her expression already defensive even before she answered, eyes narrowing as she snapped back at him.

"Putting stuff beneath Lenny's door, David. What are you doing, lounging around trying to get a hard on looking at my ass?"

Then she sneered, deliberately widening her eyes as she concluded, "Oh, no, my mistake, you wouldn't be doing that…you'd rather check out the paperboy's."

A muscle jerked in David's jaw, and he cleared his throat several times, looking away as though to attempt to compose himself before speaking to her again. Darlene was still holding the paper in her hand, though face down, where he could not see it, as he inclined his head towards it.

"What are you giving Lenny?"

"Your last will and testament. The words might be a little over his head, but I figured he'll have to know what he gets out of it if Wendell and I figure out the best way to rid ourselves of your annoying presence," she said straight-faced, even as her eyes crinkled at the corners.

She tossed her hair back behind her shoulders, then arched her back and neck in a curve which accentuated her breasts and exposed the tendons of her throat. Unwillingly David's eyes followed her movement before he tore them away, swallowing again, and his voice carried even greater tension than before as its volume rose slightly, attempting authority in its tone.

"Darlene, you can't give him just anything, you know that. He can't even read. What are you handing him?"

"Oh, do you want to see, then?" she asked with mock innocence, and began to hold it out to him. When David's fingers almost brushed, she snatched it back, holding it behind herself as a wicked smile curved her lips.

"You'll have to take it from me, then, brother dear…a friendly game of keepaway, or perhaps truth or dare…"

She stuck it beneath herself, sitting on it firmly, and as she watched David's face redden further, fists forming at his sides, she extracted the paper, holding it out about an inch from her torso in a tempting fashion, before stuffing it down her shirt, between her breasts.

"Come and get it, David…I dare you."

She could see his teeth grinding, his growing anger evident in every muscle of his body, standing hotly in his eyes, and she knew he wanted to hit her then. She knew he wanted to scream at her, to demand she obey him…but he also knew he could not make her, nor could he intimidate her, even without Wendell as her backup. Even more so, she suspected, he wanted to grab the paper just as she was daring him to, to feel her skin against his, in this intimate part of her- but he would never admit this even to himself, would never allow himself to give in to any such urge. Not with her. Not ever.

It was because of this knowledge she teased him all the more, brushing against him so he jerked away, making insinuative comments to watch the blood rush to his cheeks. It was more than amusing, it was a challenge, one he always won out on.

Without another word David stood, abruptly stalking away, and let the door slam behind him. Darlene smiled, satisfied, watching to make sure he stayed away before she turned back to Lenny's door, pressing her face against the wood as she cooed to him softly.

"Hey baby…he's gone now, it's just me. I've got something for you….see?"

She finished slipping the pictures beneath the frame, waiting for the scuffling noise of Lenny coming over to investigate. What she had slipped him were carefully drawn pictures of flowers and rainbows, sunshine and clouds…pictures of springtime and nature. Picture she had selected for their beauty and cheer.

"The season's changed, baby, it's spring time now. You put those on your wall, or on your shelf, and you'll see what it looks like outside. Isn't it pretty, Lenny? It's called spring."

She hated to think how her brothers might react, if they knew of her ritual with Lenny for each changing of the season, of the surprise that would show in their faces, of how they might look at her in a different way than she wanted or allowed them to see her as being. But she hated more for Lenny to go all year without ever seeing the best parts of the world shifting and changing without being able to view them for himself.


	20. Chapter 20: Inert

Inert

Of each member of their family, it was Lenny who was the most active, the one who seemed to be everywhere and into everything. Lenny could not see two people talking without wanting to know the topic of their conversation, could not see an interesting stranger without wanting to make their acquaintance. Although David tried his hand at charm, and the twins' darkly brooding charisma attracted their share of attention from outsiders when they chose, they all knew that Lenny was the one who could reel in affection and trust from others without expending any effort in doing so at all.

Still only a preteen, Lenny was always in motion, wanting to play games and pranks on his siblings and on anyone else who crossed his path, always certain that they were not just willing, but excited to join him. Lenny's daily interactions with his siblings was a whirlwind of throwing balls and giving playful thumps, ruffling hair and darting out of sight before they could retaliate. Only from Lenny would the twins tolerate such teasing, and only from Lenny would David and Francis accept it with a measure of grace, even smiles.

Lenny was movement and action, motion and activity. It was the essence of who he was, and his noisy, busy presence was a large part of what made him Lenny to his brothers and his sister.

So for them to see him lying unmoving and unspeaking in his bed after his shooting, to see his eyes closed and his limbs motionless at his sides, the only faint motion about him being the faint rise and fall of his chest, was like seeing him dead already, because none of them could conceive of a Lenny who could lie so still.


	21. Chapter 21: Return

Return

He thought of it, sometimes. Of one day simply not coming home. He could drive on, down the highway and across the country, if needed. He could buy a bus or plane ticket, ending up in another state, maybe even another country. He could take up a new language and a new identity, not just by name, but by facts, completely divorcing himself from his current familial ties. He could be anyone and anything, but mostly, he would have the freedom to do so, however he chose, in whatever way he liked or wanted, with no one else being affected, no one else having any comments or say.

David thought about these possibilities not with real fervor or intent, but with the idle daydreaming wistfulness of a man who knew that his day of true happiness would never come, that his life would never be fully his at all, but rather overlapping and impacted by the needs and even the simple existence of his three brothers and his sister. He thought of what it would be like to have no one to look over his shoulder after, no one insulting him and defying him, no one forcing him to move or hide or explain himself when he was not ready or willing to do so. No one to support but himself, no one to shell out hard-earned cash on who would not appreciate his sacrifices, no one to flaunt their own satisfaction where he retired most nights to bed alone. No one to push him, each day, just a little closer to the edge of sanity, to the limits of his control of his rage…no one always present, always hoping that one day, he would give them the entertainment of an explosion that they had wanted to witness all along.

He thought of it, could picture it with hazy detail in his head, and he knew that if he could find a way, he could be better off for it. If he could do what he dreamed of, he might even, finally, be happy.

But in the end, David could never bring himself to do it, or even to think about it in more clear details, for fear of tempting himself into taking steps to make them something closer to reality. They were his family. However trapped and unhappy he might feel, in the end he could not bring himself to draw away. In the end, each night he would return to them, to whatever house they were dwelling in, knowing that only with his siblings did he truly have a home.


	22. Chapter 22: Rain

Rain

"There's something happening outside," Lenny announced.

As usual, he had not knocked on the twins' bedroom door before coming inside. On more than one occasion in the two weeks since the Hamiltons had relocated and Lenny had been allowed at last to come out of his box to join them in the outside world, this had resulted in his witnessing somewhat graphic exchanges between them before they could pull the blankets more fully over themselves, but so far Lenny did not seem deterred or embarrassed by these occurrences enough to remember to knock before entering, and the twins themselves had not yet grown concerned enough to remember to lock the door.

This time around, they were not engaged in a particular sexual encounter; instead they were simply sitting up in bed, curled against each other, with Darlene's head on Wendell's shoulder, his hand idly twining through her hair as they spoke together in low tones, chuckling often over their private conversation. They looked up with lazy disinterest when Lenny came to stand in the doorway, though Darlene frowned when she saw the worry puckering his brow, the faint frown turning downward his lips.

"What do you mean?" she asked, and Lenny shrugged, seeming to find difficulty describing what he had seen.

"There's something coming down from the sky."

The twins exchanged glances, mystified. Raising an eyebrow, Wendell pulled away from Darlene just enough to face Lenny more fully, stretching his arms in front of him and exhaling before questioning him again.

"What's "something," Len?"

"I don't know," Lenny replied, and for the first time a hint of frustration came into his voice. He crossed his arms over his chest, leaning more fully against the door frame, and Darlene smirked, her eyes shifting to Wendell again. When Lenny stood like that, he was clearly unconsciously miming her twin's frequent stance. "It's making a lot of noise."

"Did you tell David or Francis?" Darlene asked, stretching her arms as well and shoving back the blankets from her and Wendell's lap, revealing the slinky red negligee she was wearing beneath. "How come I can't hear David blustering around freaking out over it?"

"I didn't tell them. I was gonna ask you first," Lenny shrugged again. "You guys know about stuff like that anyway."

Both twins chuckled, exchanging smirks, before getting out of bed, Wendell extending a hand to Darlene to pull her to her feet and holding it until they reached the doorway. Reaching out to ruffle Lenny's already tousled hair, he said amiably, "You got that right, little man. Let's check this out, then…lead the way."

They followed Lenny through the hallway and kitchen, winding around the table and chairs that was, as the twins often pointed out, entirely unneeded, as none of them ever used it to eat or prepare food on. As Lenny opened the front door with some trepidation, then quickly stepped back, taking refuge behind the twins, he gestured towards the ajar doorway, his voice becoming hushed.

"See…THAT. What is it?"

The twins craned their necks forward, straining to see something more than the obvious both of what they were observing and what Lenny had just described. It was drawing near to evening, the clouds darkened overhead, but there was still enough light to be able to clearly see the expanse of their front yard, and there was nothing out of ordinary on the lawn. Lenny wriggled with impatience behind them, tugging on both their arms at once as he repeated himself.

"What is that? Coming out the sky. It looks like water…who's doing that?"

Both Darlene and Wendell realized in the same moment what he must have been referring to, and as they turned to each other, grinning, Wendell giving a soft chuckle of amusement, Lenny huffed, pulling even harder at their arms.

"WHAT? What's so funny?"

"That is water, Lenny," Wendell informed him, still smiling, but the expression was not mocking, as it would have been with either of his other brothers in a similar circumstance, but rather genuine. "It's called rain."

"Come here, baby," Darlene held out a hand to him, her own smile softer as she met his eyes. "It's nothing to be afraid of. Come out here with me and you'll see."

Taking Lenny's hand, she pulled him forward onto the covered porch outside the doorway. From the doorway Wendell watched as she slowly guided a somewhat apprehensive Lenny down the porch steps and out onto the front yard, still holding his hand. When the cool rain first hit his skin, Lenny flinched, letting out a short cry of surprise, but as Darlene laughed, holding his hand up high and shouting for him to put back his head and let it more thoroughly wash over his face, he tentatively obeyed. Gradually at first, then more fully, a smile spread over the young boy's face, and then he laughed aloud, opening his mouth and eyes and spitting out, sputtering, the water that filled them both. With sudden friskiness he dropped Darlene's hand, beginning to run circles around her as he shouted for her to catch him, and Darlene obliged him, hair slicked over her face so she could hardly see, her pale skin in her flimsy clothing streaming rivlets of water down her limbs as she ran barefoot, laughing as much as the young child she pursued.

Observing them, Wendell's heart filled with an unusual tenderness for them, and his lips too curved into a smile. In a few moments he would join them, but he first let a minute pass where he simply watched, enjoying his siblings' enjoyment before making it his own as well.


	23. Chapter 23: Gone

Gone

They had all refused to believe it, at first, when David told them that their parents were dead.

When David had turned to them, still holding the phone even after the caller on the other line hung up with such tightness to his grip that his knuckles were visibly whitened, and told them in somber, slightly shaking tones what had been told to him, Darlene had waved it off as a joke, an attempt on the part of either the caller or David himself to rattle them, perhaps as some strange and sick form of revenge. Rolling her eyes at him, her black-painted lips twisting into a sardonic smile, she had not for a moment considered the possibility of his words being true.

"Right, David. Mom and Dad are dead? Yeah, me too, and all the rest of us. And in just a few minutes we'll all go pull out our coffins and have a good night's sleep in the basement too, right?"

Wendell was more direct about his disbelief, and considerably more aggressive in his feelings about his belief that he was being played for a fool.

"That's a fucking lie, David, don't even try to pull that kind of shit. They're not dead. It's one thing if you want to pull something like that on a pussy like Francis, but don't even try that with me or Darlene."

For Francis, it had seemed more likely that what he had just heard was part of a sick daydream or a nightmare, that if he simply walked away or otherwise refamiliarized himself with reality, then he would see that it simply wasn't happening at all. He had tried to walk away, shaking his head, and when David grabbed hold of his shoulder, trying to keep him in the same room, he had been stunned to see that David's hand felt solid, cold, and very real against him. It was hard to argue the reality of his circumstances in the face of physical touch, and so then he had had to default to simple denial without explanation of how such denial could be.

"No. No, that's not true. That isn't right…"

"I'm not making it up," David had said hoarsely over Francis's somewhat high-pitched protests, against Wendell's raised voice and aggressive tone, against Darlene's continued run of sarcastic insults. "I'm not. They are. They-"

"Give it a rest, David, we're not as gullible as you are," Darlene had exhaled, as Wendell pointed a finger in David's face, his other hand balling into a fist as he stepped closer to him, deliberately insinuating with his stance that he was, if further provoked, prepared to fight.

"Shut the fuck up, David, you keep making up shit like that and you'll have a hard time speaking for a month."

"I'm not making it up-" David had started, and when the twins advanced in on him further, both their voices drowning out his, he had startled them all by suddenly and forcefully throwing the phone against the wall, screaming over them all. "I'M NOT FUCKING MAKING THIS UP!"

This was enough to still them all, enough for the twins' faces to go slack with the first dawning realization that perhaps he was indeed speaking the truth, for Francis's breath to catch in his throat. And when David covered his mouth with one hand, bowing his head as tears filled his eyes, they were certain that this was indeed no lie, that in the span of one phone call their lives had forever changed.


	24. Chapter 24: The Family

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Compliment

"You know, I really like your hair like that, Franny," Wendell said with what seemed thoughtful consideration, and Francis's head jerked up, his eyes narrowing in suspicion.

The twins were lurking in the doorway of his bedroom, heads tilted towards each other in a manner that Francis could never decide if it was unconscious or deliberate, their arms casually twined around each other's waists, and although he had not invited them in, they had never needed or cared about receiving an invitation. As he watched, they came forward, Darlene sitting on his bed and crossing her legs in mock prim posture as Wendell leaned against her, again wrapping an arm around her shoulders and casually kneading her neck with his free hand as Francis responded to them.

"Wendell, you've been saying every day for the past six months that my hair makes me look like a homosexual hairdresser from LA."

"Yeah, well, I've decided the look works for you," Wendell shrugged, giving him a smile.

The only time that Francis ever saw Wendell smile in a manner that wasn't lustful, savage, or smirking he had also seen only aimed at his twin, Darlene, or their baby brother, Lenny, so seeing Wendell smile at him now, and then looking over at Darlene to see her smiling at him too in the sickly sweet way she managed that could only mean deception, he was even more on guard.

Especially when she got in on the game too.

"Francis, where did you get that shirt? The color really suits you, brings out the hue of your skin and the color of your eyes," she purred, as Francis blinked, now certain that they had something up their sleeves.

"Darlene, last week you said everything I own makes me look like a pathetic emo wannabe that should complete the look with eyeliner and tight jeans that show off the balls I don't have," Francis reminded her, but Darlene just continued to smile at him as Wendell twirled a strand of her hair between his fingers. Both were just close enough to him on his bed that Francis edged away, nervous.

"I don't recall that…honestly, I think you look good right now. Very…sexy…" she breathed, and she reached one hand out, beginning to lightly walk her fingers up his arm.

When Francis jerked away, blinking rapidly, Darlene's smile widened. "Oh, come on, don't be shy. Why are you so far away from us?"

"We're family, Franny," Wendell nodded, and he helped Darlene to her feet as both slowly advanced towards Francis, backing him towards the doorway. "We're family, and you're growing up so fast…don't you want to get close-"

"What the hell, stay away from me! You two do whatever the hell you want, but don't drag me into it!" Francis blurted as he almost sprinted out the door, slamming it behind him. They could hear the sound of his feet pounding down the hallway as they both began to snicker, grinning at each other from the now closed doorway.

"You were right, that was fun," Darlene smiled, even as she reached out with one hand to deftly lock the door. "How much time do you think that buys us?"

"At least the rest of the day," Wendell replied as he tested the knob, one arm again snaking around her waist as he started to back away with her towards the bed.

"Better get busy then," was her last words before his mouth descended upon hers. "No time to lose."


	25. Chapter 25: Wishing

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Wishing

There was never another option, never another possibility or even a thought for David as to what he should do when he learned of his parents' death. For the first day or two of shock and grieving, when nothing could be dealt with or thought of except for the immediate facts of their deaths, it was enough to concern himself with making arrangements for cremation, for certainly his parents could not be buried. What if a coroner were to see their fangs, to test their blood, or even send them for an autopsy, and the more unusual markers of their DNA were discovered? That would simply not do, and so until the ashes were safely in his hands, in the small ornate box that David had chosen for them, he could not rest easy that they would not someone be discovered for the human anomalies that they were.

There had been little time to allow himself grief or to feel the full impact of what they had all lost; it was easier to focus on practical arrangements such as the cremation and payments, on checking on Francis, Lenny, and the twins, trying to keep the twins from going off the rails too badly and further damaging their anonymity and knowing all the while that absolutely nothing he could do would stop them if they chose to do so. It wasn't until a few days had passed and the first true feelings of grief had begun to trickle through that it hit David that there was yet another matter he had not considered.

He had to know what would be done about his siblings. The twins were seventeen, almost eighteen, and would soon be old enough to be on their own, at least in the eyes of the law. But Francis was only thirteen, and Lenny was just six, years from being out of the box. How would they be provided for? Who would care for them until they were adults, twelve more years to go in Lenny's case, almost five in Francis's?

He had known even before he knew the question what the answer was. David would care for them, of course; David would raise them, provide for them, however it took. He himself was only 21, barely even old enough to be allowed to legally become his siblings'guardian, but to do otherwise was not an option. For as long as he could remember, all of his life, his parents, his mother in particular, had drilled into their brains the importance of family, of caring for one's own.

"Whatever the world might see us as, whatever problems we might encounter or what opponents we might face, family is what matters. Family is what's important to us all, and family will always be the thread that runs through your life to keep you whole," she had told them over and over, as she ran a hand through each child's hair or squeezed his or her shoulder, connecting them all through her touch, if not each other's. "Never forget that. You must always be there for each other, looking out for each other. Family belongs together, always."

He would not forget that, could not forget that, however he might want to. And so David did what he had to, social workers, night jobs, and all, just to keep his family together, however they might buck and struggle against him and constantly test the limits of what could strain their badly frayed bonds. They all knew, whether or not any of them admitted it, that in the end, they too were working on some level to stay together too, because when the twins turned eighteen, they stayed on, despite no longer officially being included as David's ward. It was what was best, what all of them wanted, whatever their conflicts, and in the end what they all needed. Even the twins could not exist without the rest of them as support; though they claimed to only need each other, a world with only one other person like you, one other person as your back up was a world with more struggle than most could truly handle.

David did not regret his decision, when it came down to it, and if it were presented to him again, he would have made the same choice. Family was family, and no matter what, you did what you had to in order to keep them close. But still, sometimes when he looked at other young men and saw the careless way they made decisions, the ease with which they lived their lives, unattached, responsible for themselves only, free to pick up and go whenever and wherever they liked, he burned inside with an envy that if he was not careful, would eventually give way to rage.

He had never had that choice, never had that option to have his own life, go his own way, make his own choices without anyone else factored into the equation. He never had a choice, not one that he could have lived with making, and now he never would.


	26. Chapter 26: Listen

Francis used to like David a lot more than he does now. But something about his oldest brother has changed, something vital that had made him seem more of a person, once upon a time, more of a figure that Francis could look at as fully human and real, even fun, and now when he looks at David, he sees a shadow of something that was neither David nor someone else, a badly pieced jigsaw with missing pieces and unmatched shapes jammed awkwardly where they didn't fit at all, and he can't look at him for long without feeling an itchy need to leave him.

It had started, he suspected, with their parents' death. Once David had not been so cautious, so constrained; once he would take Francis out and talk to him, really talk to him, like he was a person and not just a kid, not just a brother he was required to be around, but like someone he genuinely liked and trusted, even respected almost as if he were on his own level. Once David had asked Francis questions and really seemed to want to know his response, really seemed to care what he thought or felt about whatever topic was at hand. Once David had listened, really listened when he spoke, and even if he didn't agree, Francis knew that he had heard him, not with his ears alone, but with his thoughts.

It had all changed when David had had to take over. Something about being in charge, or attempting to be, with no one there to back him up or support him, no one there to relieve him of his duties or to go to for help, had strained David, put pressure on him that seemed to come within him and his expectations for himself as much as for any that others placed upon him. It seemed to Francis that David's view of what it meant to be head of a household was so rigid and constrained that David, nor any other human, would ever be able to properly fit into its mold. To David, a guardian would put food on the table, regardless of whether it was ever eaten; a guardian enforced cleanliness and duty, responsibility and work, and above all else, normality, even at the extent of human feelings and flexibility. A guardian meant being judged by what you did and said and produced rather than who you were or how you felt, and as David struggled to adapt himself to this view, Francis could see him pulling further away from them all, even as he struggled to keep them all together.

When Francis spoke to him now, he could see that David was looking him in the eye, but his gaze was glassy and unfocused, his thoughts shifting past what Francis was telling him to instead dwell on Francis's clothes or expression, on his uncompleted chores or the tone of his voice, and he could not hear at all what Francis was saying or what the meaning behind it was. When Francis began to withdraw from him, retreating to his room and no longer asking or offering to be around him, David seemed to take this not as a personal rejection of him and his changing, but instead as symptoms of teenage moodiness, of an average, expected, normal response, the sort of response that relieved him of his duties, and he focused not on what Francis was doing, but what he was not- namely, homework and chores.

It was doubtless the complaint of teenagers from across the nation, that their parent or guardian did not understand them. But for Francis, it seemed that much more of a betrayal, for David had once been on his side, and now David had become one of them.

Was it really too much to ask that even once, David took the time to really listen?


	27. Chapter 27: Sunrise

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Sunrise

Francis used to dread the morning's dawning, when he was younger. He rarely slept; none of his siblings did, and he, unlike the twins, had nothing to occupy or distract himself with throughout the night's long expanse. He would often lie awake, staring up at the ceiling as he listened to the not-so-muffled noises coming from their bedroom down the hall, and he would feel every muscle in his body tense and fail to relax again when the first strains of light began to stream through his window blinds. It always seemed to him that with a new day's arrival, there could only be new problems to contend with, new lies to tell, new people to have to hide himself and the truth of his family, the truth of him, from, and he had had a difficult enough time in the days that came before.

Morning meant beginning the routine all over again, going through the motions of normality, going through the step by step actions of a family as though nothing in their life had changed, as though they themselves were no different than their neighbors or coworkers, their classmates or friends, when they all knew very well that even one misstep they might make would send it all crashing down around them. Morning meant a new day of the pretense, a new day of distancing himself further and further from who he was as well as who he wanted to be, another day to add a layer of confusion to the thick contours already plastered over him so strongly that Francis sometimes felt he could hardly breathe, let alone move. Morning's approach, or even the thought of getting through another day in a state of silence about what mattered most, was something to be hated, even feared.

It had seemed different, after Francis began to grow up, after his first killing and Lenny's release from the box. Lenny was always awake at the crack of dawn, thudding down the hallway noisily to watch cartoons, the TV turned up at a volume he always claimed to be accidental, but that they all knew very well was simply his way of announcing his awakened state, of hoping that someone would come to join him. And more often than not, Francis would. Plodding down the hallway after his brother, drowsy and slow in his movements, he would sit beside him, ruffling his hair, and let the squeaky-voiced cartoon characters usher him and his little brother into the new day.

Usually David would rise soon after, beginning the process of preparing for work with a quick smile and greeting in their direction, and the twins would emerge last of all, arms entwined around each other's waists. Sometimes they slunk straight off into the bathroom together, or right out the door, but sometimes they too stopped in the living room, sprawling out together on the loveseat and teasing Lenny good-naturedly about whatever show happened to be playing. This was all so different from what Francis was accustomed to from before, from David bustling about smiling with manic cheer and cooking burnt breakfasts that none of them could see, simply because it was the normal thing to do. It was different from the twins skulking about getting in everyone's way, poking and prodding nerves just to start the morning off with stress and irritation on everyone else's part, and it was certainly different from Francis sulking alone in silence, hating every moment of the new day. The mornings had become pleasant, almost peaceful, an introduction into a day that may not vary often, but were nevertheless welcome and comfortable.

By the time Riley came to join them, Francis's view of mornings had shifted again; with Riley sharing his bed, Riley lying each night in the circle of his arms, her intoxicating scent inches from his nose, he began to see each morning as more than simply nice or enjoyable, but as his favorite part of the entire day. Waking up with Riley just before sunrise, walking outside wherever they were staying and leaning back against the building or the porch rail with her wrapped in his arms, Francis would watch the first beams of light begin to streak across the sky and feel his heart warm when Riley's face grew soft and dreamy with appreciation, her body relaxing back against him as she tracked the sun's progress in its rise into the sky.

"It's so beautiful, Francis," she would say, her thumb rubbing over the back of his hand, and it seemed to Francis that she was every bit as bright and beautiful as the scene before them, that she made his life seem to match up as well.

Perhaps it was ironic, the vampire and his human girl, starting off each day by enjoying the sunrise. But there were worse things than irony, and Francis had never much minded being a cliché; he certainly didn't mind the occasions when he could go against it.


	28. Chapter 28: Falter

Falter

Francis had thought of leaving his siblings, after his parents' death. When the reality of their lives and how it would have to be now began to settle in, and the patterns began to settle in place, he had known that he could hardly stand to live with himself and the secrets he was keeping, to live with them and the knowledge of what they had done, of what they were doing still. How could he bare to continue to look the other way, to close his eyes and his heart…how could he live with his siblings, when he knew what they were doing with pleasure and relish, even if it was in order to survive?

How could he live with his family when they were all murderers, when they all continually told him that one day, he would become exactly like them?

It had seemed different, somehow, before his parents. His parents had taken care of all the killings, and though they had taught David how to preserve the blood, had expected and been prepared for the days when he and the twins made their first kill, it had not been necessary for them to do so if they did not wish, and none of them had never gone without. Francis had never lacked what he needed, and yet he had never been forced to be confronted with the reality of how he came to get it. He had never had to watch someone die, never had to connect a person's face with the blood he drank to survive.

But with their deaths, all of this went out the window. Although David and Wendell still took care of most of the preserving, they needed and expected Francis to help now, and he knew exactly where and how they went about it, often saw their victims still living, could hear their screams constantly ringing inside his head. The twins brought home victims regularly, despite David's protests, and more times than he could remember Francis had seen blood soaking their sheets or carpet, staining the tile floors or the ceramic of their bathroom. He couldn't forget, no matter how badly he might want to, who it was he was living with, what it was they did, and what that made him in return.

Almost every day, cautiously at first, then with more fervor and longing, Francis thought about leaving them, about striking it out on his own. He thought about what life would be like apart from David and his checking up on him, from the twins and their cruelties, their open passion for each other out for any to see, whether or not they wanted to. He thought about how it must feel to be able to walk into a basement without cringing and wanting to close his eyes, how it must be to walk into a house and know that no bodies awaited him around the corner, that no one would hit him or yell at him or belittle him, that no one would disapprove or sneer at who he was. He tried to imagine a life where no one expected him to become a monster, and he ached for it so badly that it physically hurt.

But then he imagined what it would be like, to be hungry with no way to get food- no way but through getting it himself. He imagined what it would be like to go through each day fully alone, unable to speak to anyone, without anyone who was anything like him nearby. He thought of not seeing his siblings, of not hearing their familiar voices every day, and this thought was every bit as painful, caused every bit as much of a needful ache, as the last.

In the end, he couldn't do it. If it hurt Francis to live with them, it would hurt to live without them too, and when it came down to it he wasn't sure he could survive.


	29. Chapter 29: Preparation

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Preparation

Although the twins were looked upon by their brothers as impulsive, reckless, in all actuality, however quickly they might decide together upon a mutual kill, there was a system they set in place for it, a pattern of events that they usually enacted to go through with. Of course, the individual details varied day by day, victim by victim, but in the end, they were familiar enough with the steps to know what to do, and it made it all that much simpler for them- though no less exciting.

Sometimes they could plan in advance their victims, choosing well ahead of time who to target and how to get to them. Those times required a patience and foresight that Wendell often simply didn't have, and if they managed to pull them off at all, it was generally due to Darlene's efforts and her reigning in his impulses to simply act. When they could plan it, it meant less blood, less clean up, less loose ends to tie up, and considerably less hassle from David. Planning meant that more blood could be preserved for the family, that a more fitting victim, with no one out looking for them, no one attached to them, could be chosen, that nothing could be left to point back at them as the culprits. Planning allowed anticipation to build until they were both almost unable to contain themselves from acting any longer, and when the killing could finally occur, they could hardly hold themselves back from the fervor of hunger and blood lust it brought out in them, until they could finally allow themselves to release.

But planning was such effort. Planning meant talking and thinking through, making checks and balances, having to have a semi script to stick to and a killing place prepared. Planning was boring, and so often they simply fell back into their familiar pattern of impulse killing- which technically required a little planning as well.

Find an attractive girl or girls. Draw close, talking, flirting, showing skin. Lower their defenses with alcohol and reassurances of your sibling status, for what girl would expect a brother and sister to group together to intend her harm? And then, when her guard is low, and she is walking along with you with ease, out of sight of others, perhaps getting into your car, or even already in your home, when the moment is right, or when you simply cannot wait any longer, attack. And this is where the methods really vary, because, as the twins have discovered, there are many, many creative ways to find and gorge oneself on another's blood.

In the end, as they've tried to tell David, over and over, to little avail, no amount of preparation really matters, because it's all the same results. Someone's dead, they're full, and they'll have to find a way to cover it up. Sometimes the challenge of a lack of preparation in the deed actually makes it more fun.


	30. Chapter 30: Threat

Threat

"If you ever tell about us," Wendell had warned Francis, from the very first day he was ever let out of the box, and as a continual reminder over the years that followed, "about what we are, or how we have to live…I'll fucking kill you, Franny. I don't care what Mom or Dad say, I'll do it without a single regret. And I'll make you really fucking sorry that it won't come sooner than I'll let it."

He had held Francis by the back of his neck, his already callused hand rough against Francis's sensitive skin. He was only thirteen, to Francis's nine, but he was already growing tall and broad like a man, his feet sticking out awkwardly large in proportion to the rest of him. And looking at him then, at thirteen, looking at him now, six years later, Francis had had no doubt that he meant every word of what he said. Wendell's blue eyes were narrowed with intent sincerity, his mouth thinned into a grim line, and his gaze bore into Francis so hard that Francis cringed, almost feeling his fists already hammering into his skin even as Wendell kept only one hand very lightly on his skin.

It would not be beneath Wendell, even at nineteen, to beat him until he couldn't move, until he choked on the blood that was so important and central to them all. And it certainly wouldn't be a first for Wendell to kill someone purely because he was angry with them, in this case, purely for revenge; Wendell might in fact see it as a dutiful killing, an honoring and protection of family name, from a family who ironically had no permanent name at all.

Darlene had been slightly less direct about her thoughts. Often she would sidle up to Francis, slipping her arm around his shoulders, and lean her head against him in a manner that anyone casually watching would simply think her sweet, a gentle showing off affection from an older sister to her younger brother. Even as she embraced him, she would turn her head to whisper into his ear with deliberate pronunciation, "If you ever tell about us, Francis…I'll do worse than Wendell thinks possible. He might want to kill you….but me? I'll let you live. I'll just make sure that every second you draw breath, every second your heart still struggles to beat on, you'll be really, REALLY sorry for it…I'll make you beg me to let you die. And then, I'll tell you no."

He had not doubted either of them, though their threats were contradictory in nature; he could only assume that if he ever told, if he ever breathed a word to betray the family's secret, then the twins would somehow decide between them which would get to enact their will upon him. He didn't know which he would hope to win out; it took all his efforts to try to ensure that neither would have the chance to do so.

But although the twins' words scared him, it was David's admonishment, said in an unusually soft and serious tone that lacked the urgency and near manic undertone it usually carried, that really dug beneath his skin. In the end, it was David's warning that made him keep his urge to speak deeply suppressed.

"Francis, if you ever talk about us…if you ever tell anyone," he had started, looking him straight in the eye, one hand on his shoulder in a manner as though he were not just an older brother, but a father, speaking to him on a man to man basis rather than as a command. Speaking to him as if he believed he had the maturity to understand. "If you ever tell anyone the truth about us, they will arrest us all. They will split us all up into different prisons, and they'll put us on trial, and we'll be apart from each other the rest of our lives. They'll give us the death penalty if we're lucky, and it won't matter, because we will die. They won't give us the blood we need, and we will starve to death. We will have slow, painful deaths separated from each other, with no one with us or caring what happens to us when we finally die. No one will understand or take care of Lenny, and then he'll die too, or someone will kill him when he can't control himself from killing others."

He had paused, letting this sink in, and then really hit him with the clincher of it all. "If you tell, then you'll destroy everything Mom and Dad worked so hard to set up for us, everything they did to keep us safe. They will have died for no reason at all, and you will be shaming them in their memory. You'll be betraying us, Francis, but even more you'll be betraying them."

There was no way, after that, that Francis could ever tell. It was bad enough to destroy his brothers, his sister, to destroy himself…but to spit in the face of his parents, to make certain that they would never have reason to be proud of him? Francis might be a coward, but he was not a traitor. He could not spit on his parents' memory in desperate hopes to ease his flickering conscience. Not even in hopes of bringing himself some semblance of normality; not even to attempt some small shattered shreds of emotional peace.


	31. Chapter 31: Light

a

Light

They had kept Francis indoors, the first day that they let him out of the box. It wasn't so much that his parents had been afraid of what he might do, should they let him outside, around people beyond his family members, whom he had grown familiar with; they knew that any children, for the first couple of months when let out of the box, would be carefully monitored by the parents and older children of the family, not allowed to run unchecked among outsiders, not because he would not be able to keep control of himself, but just in case he did become overly stimulated. The way to transition children from the box to assimilating with the outside world, they all understood, was to expose them gradually, first allowing them to live in the rest of the house with their family, then to take them out to play in the yard and for short trips around the neighborhood. Eventually the child could be trusted to go to stores or brief expeditions around town, and at some point, the child could finally be allowed to go to school, having proven he had enough self-control to be reasonably secure to do so. With some people, like the twins, it wasn't so much a lack of self-control as a lack of caring for the consequences of their actions, at times, that got them in trouble, and children with those tendencies might have to be monitored much longer and more carefully than others.

Francis had been allowed out of the box earlier than David had by a year, and several years earlier than the twins had, due to his quieter, less aggressive nature, but nevertheless, their parents had still followed with him a similar protocol as his older siblings. Only through steps and stages had he been allowed to join the outside world, to encounter other people and then children his own age, and he felt, looking back, that their careful method had been the right decision for him, had probably saved him a considerable amount of trouble.

But with Lenny, their parents were long deceased, and the possibility of a slow, gentle easing him into life with outsiders was no longer a possibility. With four bodies to their credit, three of them located within their own home, they had to relocate immediately, and the easiest way to do it, the only way to manage without stirring up considerably more attention than was needed, was to let Lenny out of the box. To skip past all the easing in and monitoring, the making certain of his self-control, and simply walk out the front door with his hands in David's and Darlene's, in front of any person who might pass him by, whether he was ready or not.

And this was exactly what they did.

They had anticipated that he would be dazed by the sight of cars, despite having seen them on his TV, that he would stare at other humans until they grew uncomfortable and looked away. What they hadn't expected was for Lenny to stand, pale, open-mouthed, and blinking frequently as he looked up towards the sun with something between shock and wonder. Pointing his stubby finger towards the sky, he had tugged on Darlene's shirt hem with the other, asking her, "How did the light get up so high? Who put it up there?"

And Darlene had laughed, kneeling down in front of him and smoothing back his hair affectionately as she smiled at him, lowering his hand.

"Nobody put it up there, baby. That's called the sun."


	32. Chapter 32: Tomorrow

Tomorrow

David didn't remember a specific time when it occurred to him that he was gay. It seemed to him that the knowledge had come as a process, a slow understanding over time that deepened with each particular incident that further his suspicions. By the time he was certain, he had realized that some part of him had known all along. He had not been "learning" of his sexual orientation; he had simply had to take his time in accepting it.

There was the incident in sixth grade, when another boy in his class had pulled him and some others aside in the boys' locker room to show him a Playboy magazine, and David had looked at the centerfold with no interest or understanding of why the other boys gasped and groaned and showed such excitement at her display of skin. There was the fact that through the rest of middle school, and going into high school as well, David had found himself increasingly drawn towards watching the other boys undressed, sneaking glances at their bodies at the lockers near his or in the showers, how he had found himself drawn towards only biting or killing the girls, but not kissing or having sex with them. It had been thoughts and fantasies of his male classmates that had kept him up at night, and it was around them that he found himself feeling even more awkward and self-conscious than usual, certain that they saw right through him and were mocking his every movement, his every word and gesture.

He was not wrong. Before David himself understood or admitted to himself his sexual orientation, they appeared to have already noticed it themselves or to have decided upon a label, whether or not he gave them information or proof to ground it on. Based upon his appearance and his clothing, his mannerisms and his style of speaking, they called him a fag and a fairy, a queer and a queen, and his days were filled with such mocking and occasional roughness that it took considerable self-control for him not to lose control of his temper on every one of them, to show them just what he was capable of. He had thought that within his home, at least, he could hide his tendencies, that his parents had never found the magazines or videos hidden about his room, and to their credit they never spoke or asked him. His parents, though, he had always known would love and accept him for who he was, for who all their children were, and it had not been fear of their disapproval that kept David from speaking up.

It had been his own disappointment. He was not the sort of man he felt that he should be, and so even after his parents' death, even when it became almost physically painful to keep such a large part of him a secret when there were already so many other secrets to hold in, he did not speak up. Even when his siblings confronted him about the men they had seen him bring home, when the twins began to regularly refer to him with sly comments about homosexuality and to use homosexual slurs against him when angry, David said nothing. Tomorrow, he always thought, was the right time to come out, tomorrow would be the day.

But tomorrow never came, and in the end, it wasn't necessary to speak. His siblings knew, and gradually, they all settled into an understanding that became more respectful, more at ease, and coming out in an official manner would have seemed redundant, even ridiculous. Without a real conversation, they had somehow said it all.


	33. Chapter 33: Beautiful

The twins never told each other that they loved each other. It was not their way, to speak of feelings, and to speak of love towards any of their siblings, even each other, would seem awkward and strange to them, as well as wholly unnecessary. They knew that they loved each other; they conveyed it multiple times a day with understood looks and touches, with embraces and caresses, both sensual and soft; they could have a conversation without using words at all, and they knew without a doubt that they would kill or die for each other, that they would allow nothing to come between them, even their other siblings. They knew they loved each other; so what, then, would be the point to say it aloud?

Words were used best for taunting and manipulation, conveying information or giving commands; emotions and known facts were not necessary to put into words, and so they did not.

It was the same with conveying compliments. They knew that they were attractive and attracted to each other, that they admired each other's appearance; why say so aloud, when they could show it that much more effectively and efficiently with their bodies? Why would Wendell feel the need to tell Darlene that he thought her more than intoxicatingly sexy, more than wickedly creative and perverse in her skills, but also beautiful? The only girl among her brothers, the person he had loved most from the moment of their birth…why would he need to tell her that sometimes when he looked at her, everything about her seemed to shine so brightly to his eyes that it almost hurt to look at her, that everything about her made him feel like he was shining back at her, reflecting and even taking on her glow?

It would sound ridiculous, even if it happened to be true; it was words that conveyed nothing of the reality, when simply taking her by the arms, pushing her against the wall, and kissing her until she couldn't breathe could get the point across considerably better. And so time and time again, this was exactly the option Wendell chose.


	34. Chapter 34: Excitement

Exciting

Wendell could remember clearly the first time that he had looked at Darlene and understood that sooner rather than later, she would be his lover.

The idea didn't cause any sort of shock or distress from either of them, nor was it anything they needed to discuss once it occurred, either among themselves or with their family. They already knew that within their family, at least, the idea of being in a relationship with relatives, even brothers and sisters, was not only somewhat common, but was even somewhat expected and necessary. Their parents had made it clear from an early age how few were like them in the world, how they would only be able, most likely, to find a permanent mate among people of their kind, as a "normal" person would not only find it difficult to accept them and fit in with their lifestyle, but would also likely be someone they would eventually find it very difficult to resist attacking, if ever too hungry or overcome with passion.

For people of our kind, they had carefully explained, from the time their children first emerged from their boxes, it's different than for others. It's smart sometimes to find a mate like you, someone who can help satisfy you and take the edge off the strong sexual desires you will eventually harbor…someone who can keep you from making foolish mistakes, in the name of lust. Even if that person is a close relative…for us, it's acceptable. For us, it's okay…and if any of you choose to do so, as long as you're discreet about it, we'll look the other way as you're growing up, and accept it in full when you are adults.

Of course, most of this speech had been aimed at the twins, because they were the only two of their five children that any of them would really expect to have such a relationship. Although the twins had suspected from the time David started to go through puberty that he was gay, Francis and Lenny were too young for this to be a possible pairing, and they all knew that from infancy, the twins had been exceptionally close.

As infants and toddlers they had shared the same crib, falling asleep together sucking on each other's fingers or twining chubby hands in each other's hair. As they grew older they had continued to share a bedroom. Briefly Darlene, as the only daughter, had been given her own room, but as this had meant that Francis and Wendell shared a room, a situation which caused considerable conflict, and Wendell had generally snuck into her room to sleep in her bed with her each night anyway, it had eventually been changed that she and Wendell shared. Even as preteens they had rarely fought with each other, as they did with their brothers, and if they thought about it, they would have been able to remember only a handful of occasions where they were even irritated with each other, let alone angry. Their arguments tended towards verbal banter that they both enjoyed rather than any serious insults or words meant to wound, and any physical altercations they got into, as with their verbal ones, were playful rather than actually meant to harm. They were physically affectionate with each other in a manner they were not even with their parents, and it was often commented on by the rest of the family that they were somewhat removed from them, sometimes not quite connected or part of the larger family circle, as though they had created one where only the two of them had space to exist.

And perhaps they had, in a way. They had known each other better and longer than anyone else, in a way that none of the other children had been able to experience. Having been together at all times, in their years growing in their box, never apart from each other's company, exposed to their older brother and their parents only in the time it took for them to be fed, talked to through a closed door, and provided with items for amusement, they had fostered a trust and dependency on each other that could not have been rivaled by anyone else. For years, they had indeed lived in a world of their own, apart from others, and even once submerged into a larger one, it seemed at times even to themselves that they had never entirely left the first.

They would not, even as children, have been shocked by the idea of being each other's mate or even marrying; within their family, it was almost acknowledged as a certainty. But still, Wendell remembered well the first occasion where he himself was sure.

He had always thought that his sister was pretty, even when she was a scruffy little girl with crooked bangs and freckles on her cheeks and nose. But the first time he really remembered being attracted to her was when they were about 12 or 13, both of them just beginning to develop. It was a couple of years before their first kill together, only a year or two since they had been let out of the box, later than any of their brothers had been. They had suspected by the time they were finally allowed out that if they could, their parents might have kept them contained until they were grown, still not trusting their level of control when in each other's company.

But that day, when Wendell looked at her, he had seen something more than his sister, his partner in crime, even more than his twin, which surpassed both in their view. In some way, rather than personalizing her, as most might when becoming attracted to a woman, he depersonalized her, seeing her instead as a sexy girl- one he was attracted to. One he wanted to do things with, and fast.

They had kissed each other before, of course, out of affection, then out of curiosity, to try out what they saw occur with others. They had enjoyed it well enough, but it had never carried the same edge or urgency that he felt, that he assumed she felt too, when he looked at her on that particular day. They had seen each other naked countless times, had examined and touched each other's bodies, but still, none of it had anything like it had felt to them on that day.

They were in their room, Darlene leaning back against the headboard of her bed with a glass of blood in her hand, and as she took a swallow, then lowered her glass, Wendell had noticed the remnants of red glistening on her lips. Something about the brightness of the fluid on her skin, the faint stain of red against her teeth when she smiled, made a shiver that was somehow warming roll down his spine and settle deep within his gut and groin, and he had smiled.

"What?" Darlene had asked, raising her eyebrow, as Wendell gestured towards her mouth.

"You have blood on your lips."

"Soooo…wipe it off," she had smirked, and leaned towards him, her newly budding breasts shifting forward just enough so he could see through the loose neck of her shirt.

Wendell had started to reach out his hand, but as he shifted closer, eyes zeroing in on Darlene's stained lips, he found himself leaning in much closer and instead licking her lips, a faint flick at first, then more thoroughly. Meeting Darlene's eyes, seeing the open invitation standing in their surface, he had not had to think twice to accept.

From that point, there had been no going back, and as for being discreet, that went out the window once their parents were dead. What was the point anymore?

Every time Wendell watched her hips sway with her walk, her eyes light up with devious glee with her smile, every time Darlene's fingertips brushed against his skin, he felt a fire spread through his body that did not extinguish even when she had pulled away or left his view. When he saw her in the midst of a kill, blood splattered over her face and chest and arms, soaking her clothing to her skin, and smelled it all about her, he wanted to throw her down and have her right then and there, and often could not contain himself from doing so. Killing alone was enjoyable…but killing with Darlene was the most excitement he could possibly dream up.


	35. Chapter 35: Blood

Blood

Wendell always knew when it was coming. He could smell it on her, emanating off her pores, a musky, vivid scent that raised the hairs on his arms and left his body tingling all over with hunger, lust, and sharp anticipation. He could see it in the subtle changing of her walk and gestures, how she moved slower, more languidly, as though every movement was just a little more sensual than usual. As the time drew closer, she was sharper in tongue and shorter in patience, higher in libido and lower in her tolerance for annoyances, and her tendency to be impulsive and violent, even when unnecessary, increased dramatically.

Yes, his twin sister, Darlene was always sexy to him, but for one week out of the month, she was completely irresistible. And Wendell didn't bother to try doing so.

They didn't ever worry about locking the door. Their siblings always knew to steer clear of them when the first week of the month rolled around, and with the volume of noise they generally made from behind it, no one would be foolish enough to forget and intrude on them when the bedroom door was closed.

There were never any words; there was no need for them, once it started, and both were generally so breathless within a few minutes of their bodies hitting the sheets- or the wall, or the floor, or the bathtub- that they couldn't have formed words if they tried. The door had barely closed before they were on each other, tearing off clothing and casting them, ripped and stained and unwearable for the future, to a pile in the corner, eagerly pressing into each other with grasping hands, loud moans, sharp inhalations of breath, and occasional drawn out groans and grunts of sheer pleasure.

Darlene's nails dug deep, bloody furrows into the skin of Wendell's back, and her fangs slid downward, her eyes a deep red as she bit just below his pulse point, small bites that drew minimal blood, but were nevertheless deeply erotic for her to experience. Wendell, similarly aroused, kissed his way down her throat and sternum, between her breasts and down her stomach, scraping his fingernails down her sides and over her thighs before lightly stroking his inner thighs. Gasping, grinning in a manner that seemed almost manic with his pleasure, he removed his fingers briefly to take them to his mouth, sucking the substance lightly smeared across their tips, and then lowered his head, the better to fully enjoy. For her part, Darlene simply grinned, propping herself back on her elbows and spreading her legs wider to allow him full access as her eyes rolled back to show their whites, and she arched her throat, her hair spilling back over the sheets as she moaned low in her throat, her skin beginning to flush from her face downward before giving a prolonged shudder of enjoyment.

One thing about that week of the month, it certainly gave them satisfaction…and quite a lot of creativity.


	36. Chapter 36: Bedtime

Bedtime

Each evening was the same, for the first year or two after Lenny had been let out of the box. Although David had established his "official" bedtime as being at eight pm, it was much more likely that he would not begin to make a move towards actually preparing for bed, however much David might nag him over it, until it was considerably closer to nine or so. Even then, every step of progress made towards even entering his bedroom, let alone lying down in bed, came at a very slow pace, mingled with frequent arguments, complaints, and attempts to negotiate along the way. Lenny was nothing if not a bargainer, and he had learned through frequent experimentation that sometimes David was exhausted or simply out of patience from his day enough that he would let him have his way. As a result, Lenny would push and prod and stretch out his bed preparation every evening, in hopes that this time for him would be the last.

Teeth brushing would be accompanied by frequent interruptions as he queried his older siblings about missing teeth and loose teeth, the reality of the Tooth Fairy, and whether she would pay extra for a fang, or simply be scared by it. Dressing for bed consisted of drawn-out speculations about whether it would be a warm or cold night and how he should dress accordingly, several changings of pajamas based upon his decisions that he should be warmer versus cooler, and arguments over whether it was okay to sleep in his underwear alone, as he was sure that Wendell did. If he had had homework earlier in the day, Lenny would often use this as a last ditch effort to avoid bedtime as well, announcing that he had "forgotten" to do a vital part of what was due the following morning and it must be gotten to immediately.

They all knew that he must have a serious distaste for bedtime if he was willing to do homework rather than sleep.

Of course, they had figured out over time that there was more to it than simple distaste for sleep; rather, Lenny's resistance was largely in part due not to objection of sleeping, but of the fact that no one ELSE was sleeping too. While Lenny was "wasting time" in bed, his siblings were all awake and alert, doing exactly what they wanted whenever they wanted, with no one trying to stop them or make them do otherwise. As the youngest child, Lenny didn't have this freedom, and he made it clear, in his own way, that he resented it.

Lenny had repeatedly indicated annoyance when his brothers or his sister treated him like a "baby" when he wanted to be a "big kid," even if the people he was comparing himself to were all at least twice as old as he was, and all but Francis were legally adults. This didn't matter to Lenny; although he often viewed David as a father figure, Darlene as a mother, he nevertheless wanted to be treated on equal footing with them all, regardless of whether he wanted the privileges of childhood, such as lighter and lesser chores, at other times. If they were awake and he wasn't, he might miss out on something fun or at least interesting, left out of family business or even a good TV show that the others were allowed to see and be part of. Lenny wanted to be part of them, always, and to be informed that he couldn't be was enough to provoke an endless battle strategy to have this limitation revoked.

Of course, they couldn't allow him to do so, and the reasons for this went beyond simple conventional tendencies to want children in bed early for a full night's rest, in order to be at optimal health and learning capacity the following day. They all knew that if Lenny had not slept a decent number of hours the night before, it was much more likely that he would be cranky, tired, and irritable the next day…and in turn, that he would be much more likely to lose control or act upon impulse to take it out on others. And for Lenny, his version of "taking it out on others" could very well mean physically attacking them…or trying to eat them.

They had already moved once as a result of one of Lenny's "grouchy days," and they were in no hurry to tempt fates again.

So bedtime was very important for Lenny, and yet each night was a struggle, at first, to even get him to consent to it. Even once in his bedroom, there were the usual requests most nights for a glass of blood, trips to the bathroom, asking to have his light adjusted to brighter or darker, and any other stalling tactic he could think of. Most of them quickly discovered that they did not have the patience to deal with it, and it was entirely too easy to lose their own temper and let Lenny draw them into arguments- which made him perfectly happy, because all that meant was he got to delay his sleep even further.

It was Darlene, surprisingly, who was least likely to get angry with Lenny or allow him to push her around. Though with everyone else she had a very short temper and tended to display very little restraint against showing it, Lenny was different with her, brought out a forbearance that the others could not summon after a few minutes of Lenny's tricks. And perhaps due to this, Lenny rarely tested her anywhere near the extent that he would the others.

So naturally it became Darlene's task, over time, if she were home to do so, to get Lenny into bed. And of course, it was she who told him his bedtime story.

"So what do you want to hear today?" she asked, sitting up beside Lenny in his bed on top of the blankets with her legs stretched out in front of her and wriggling slightly to make herself comfortable.

The question was a formality more than an actual question, part of the nightly ritual, and Lenny answered as he always did, settling back and nestling his head into his pillow before turning his neck to face her, smiling up at her.

"Tell me the story about us," he said, gesturing first to him, then to her. "Tell me about what we are and how come we live like we do."

And Darlene would begin, her voice softening, becoming lower, hypnotic in tone as she looped an arm loosely around her youngest brother, her head bowing close to his as she spoke.

"Once upon a time there was a man and a woman who loved each other very much. But they were very different from other men and women, special and strong and powerful in a way that other people were not. This man and woman felt lost and alone in the world until one day, they found each other. They were so happy to find each other, because they knew they would be happy together for the rest of their lives."

"And that was our mom and dad," Lenny would always interrupt, his voice now as soft as his sister's as he stifled a yawn, and Darlene would smile, ruffling her hand through his hair as she continued.

"Yes, they were. And they had five children together out of their love, four boys and one girl-"

"I'm the youngest boy," Lenny would whisper, his eyes dropping. "And you're the girl."

"Right…and they loved each of their children very much too. David, Darlene, Wendell, Francis, and Lenny…but there was a problem…their children were different too. And this made life hard for them sometimes."

At this point she would pause, checking to see that Lenny's body was very relaxed, that his eyes were beginning to droop, and continue to stroke his hair as she finished.

"Their problem was, that they had a disease, a disease that made them very, very sick if they didn't eat blood instead of food that other people ate. So to get that blood, they had to kill people. It wasn't their fault that they had to kill people. It didn't make them bad. In fact, they were better than other people, stronger and smarter and faster. But it did make them different, and they could never, ever tell anyone how different they were…not unless they ate them afterward."

"One day, the man and woman had a terrible accident, and now only their children were left behind. Their children still loved each other, and they all agreed to look out for each other and keep their secret. So that's what we're doing, Lenny…looking out for each other, and keeping out secret."

Almost certainly by this point he would be asleep, beginning to breathe deeply, and with a soft smile, Darlene would slip off the bed and steal out the door. It wasn't a ritual she minded; she still remembered curling up next to Wendell as her father told them the very same tale. To continue the tradition was a way of honoring him, honoring their past, and though she wasn't' a sentimental person, even Darlene didn't buck family tradition.


	37. Chapter 37: Hope

Hope

Francis had not felt that there was something missing in his life. It wasn't until what had been missing was suddenly his that he understood the enormity of what he had gone without, and he could not imagine how he had thought he was anywhere near as happy as he was now.

Of course, he had known objectively that his parents were missing, and that certainly his life and his family were not fully complete without their presence. For the first few years after their deaths, he, his brothers, and his sister had felt adrift, struggling to get by financially, socially, and emotionally, finding it difficult simply to survive, much less to determine their places in the world or with each other. It had been almost impossible for the first few years to feel close to each other as a family, to support and protect each other as much as they knew they should and needed to.

In those years, Francis had keenly felt the emptiness of his life, despairing over what felt to him a gaping hole in the family where his parents should be. How would he get by without his parents, the only people who really understood him, the only people he really felt could love him and keep their family together? How could be grow up and navigate through life with only his brothers and his sister as examples for the sort of person he could become, the models for how he should be? And if he rejected what they chose, who they were, then what did that mean that he would end up as?

But six years had passed now since their parents had died, and Francis was a grown man now, in his early twenties, finally equal in status to his older brothers and his sister. His grief for his parents was resolved now, and he rarely thought of them, beyond occasional bouts of wistfulness or missing their faces or voices during events he knew they would have cherished within the family. When Francis thought of his parents now, or retold Lenny stories about them to keep them alive within his memories as well, he was able to smile, to feel genuine enjoyment and affection towards them in a way he would not have been able to a few years before.

He had worked past his feelings of loneliness and confusion of himself as a person, both within and outside of his family, of his resentment and grief towards the genetic disease he carried and what it meant to the way in which he must live his life. He had no more anger towards his siblings or his genetics, no further wish to be able to cut out the pieces of himself that made him different than most of the others they came into contact with. His difference no longer disturbed or frightened him; he had grown comfortable with himself, even happy to be the way he was, to have the strength, knowledge, and edge to survival that he did. Francis knew himself to be a predator, and over time, he had become okay with this fact, even to enjoy it. It was a heady feeling sometimes, to know how little could truly hurt him, how much it would take to bring him down.

He was close to his siblings now, even the twins, no longer expecting them to be his role models or his superiors, nor allowing them to view themselves in such a way, but instead to see them as his friends, as altered reflections of himself, different, in ways, but essentially the same at core. No one else could appreciate what he was or what he had to do, let alone celebrate it with him. For the first time since his parents' death, Francis was happy, secure, bonded to his family in a way that he felt was more than enough, certainly more than he had asked for or expected. If asked, he would have honestly replied that there was nothing missing in his life, nothing further he needed.

But that was before Riley entered his life, and with her, Francis realized almost immediately that he had been wrong. She was the missing piece of him he had never known to be left incomplete, taking over an absence in his life and heart he had thought long ago filled. She was beautiful and smart, seductive yet sweet, sharply humorous yet harboring a vulnerability that Francis could not resist responding to, a need for him and the help and love he could give her.

He would not have thought it possible to have extensive control around a human, nor that his siblings could, and to love a human would have seemed so impossible as to be ridiculous to even imagine. But Francis loved Riley, and even more incredibly, even knowing about him what she knew, she loved him too.

She gave him love and affection as he had not expected to receive in his life, a renewed purpose to begin each day with. She was his companion and his lover, his best friend and his hope for the future and all it still might hold in its possibilities.

She made his life and his family more complete than he would have thought possible…and now, it seemed, they only needed to find the same for David, to make it fully whole.


End file.
